


Conception

by Bridgette_Hayden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Flirts with Dubious Consent, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-05-16 17:40:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 64,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19322962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bridgette_Hayden/pseuds/Bridgette_Hayden
Summary: Snape feels it's his duty to make everyone take Harry's pregnancy as seriously as he does. When it comes to his unborn child, he must have absolute authority. He's trying to be the guardian that Harry needs. But the advent of their child, makes Harry feel that something more is owed to him. If not Severus' affection, then at least his body. Snape will have to give up some control and consider Harry's feelings, or lose everything. (The first two chapters started as one-shot "pic-fics," but grew into a more complex story.)





	1. Gossip

Credit: Warn Bros.

 

* * *

 

 

WARNING:  If you need to be warned for everything that could possibly offend someone, this story is not for you. Turn back now. I grew up on paperback novels and there were no tags and warnings. We actually had to be mature and deal with whatever unfolded in the story. What we DIDN'T know, made the excitement, not what we did know. Please don't read if this statement bothers you.

 

"Pic Fics" start out cute, but they can grow into very dramatic stories. If 'cute' is all you want, please don't read any further.

***

No. He refused to make light of the situation, and he gave the other teachers his coldest stare to make his opinion plain. He would not join their banter in the lounge. If they thought Potter’s pregnancy was an appropriate source of amusement, then he would remind them that it was a gross mistreatment of a student’s confidence. It was bad enough that the boy couldn’t finish his daily schedule, let alone suffer ridicule from those who claimed to be his superiors.

Oh, they quieted and mustered the decency to cover their amusement, but it was too late. Severus knew exactly who Harry had to be protected from, and who could not be trusted to honor the boy with the basic respect he deserved.

It was not a common thing for a wizard to find himself with child, so it made Harry’s situation all the more deserving of sensitivity and caution. Severus was taking the names of those who denied this to Harry.

He’d promised to watch out for him, not just to Albus and Minerva, but to himself. It was no one’s business how the accident had happened, and it was an accident. Magic had no boundaries. It knew no laws. The boy had been waiting in the shadows, steeling kisses from him all year. He’d had the foresight to warn Albus that Potter’s advances were taking on the seriousness of a young man, and no longer the crush of a child. His growing body was going to want to do something with all of that potential and desire. Harry was too magic for his own good.

It should’ve come to no surprise when Severus’s own restraint could not contain itself any longer and he’d given in. Barely a kiss, the boy’s tender mouth was wet and warm enough to unleash essences which neither could hold back, and he’d held Harry quivering against him in the aftershock of sensual spasms. Whether he was worthy of this or not, it had chosen him. It came to him, and by damn he would let himself have it. It had been the best thing Severus could remember feeling in years.

He would be damned if these nosy, busy bodies were going to make him regret it. To hell with the age difference. They wished they had such a young, eligible suitor pining for their affection. He could not swear to be deserving of Harry’s love, but he could stand by the boy until Harry figured things out for himself. Certainly, he had a duty to take care of Harry and the child, and he would do so proudly. Whatever happened after that, had to be Harry’s decision.

They were not going to laugh at Harry in his presence. They were not going to laugh at the start of his new family. If their lazy, hypocritical excuses for being responsible adults, had a right to spew their wretched offspring into the world, then his long-suffering magic had a right to thrive as well. He had a right to procreate. He had never wanted to before, until Harry had given him a reason.

He couldn’t wait for the news to become public. He and Dumbledore were waiting on Harry to give his consent, and the poor boy hardly knew if up was down at the moment. But Severus was eager to shut these teachers up, to see the look on their faces when he next stood before them. He would take extreme delight in their knowing that he was the father. He would step close to their pinched, offended faces and dare them to say one word against it. He would remind everyone in this room, that he remembered their comments, and he would never forget. They would all be remembered, and repaid.

* * *

Top stories by this writer:

[Unbearable Series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1031138)

[Snow Globe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21530506)

[Cauldron](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20813984/chapters/49474280)

[New House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285186/chapters/47577052) (This can be enjoyed as a stand alone, or as chapter 3 of [A Wedding](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285186/chapters/45866704)) 


	2. Restrictions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus demands Harry’s cooperation in the protection of his unborn child. Harry has demands of his own. (These chapters are connected to one another by pic fic narratives. They are born from picture-prompts.)

Severus did not achieve potion mastery, reach tenure, and survive a war, to chase teenagers all over the grounds at night. Yet, there he was, catching up with Harry, only to find the boy sulking on the bench along Pomona’s garden. Harry’s silhouette slumped beneath the waxing glow of a lamppost. What could Severus possibly say that he hadn’t already? He didn’t know, but he had to get Harry back inside somehow. And camping out on the grass, to awaken to the gawks and stares of the student body come morning, was not an option he wanted to entertain. Certainly, he was ready to do anything for the child within Harry, but it would not do to let Harry know just how much power he carried, not yet.

The argument had started in Severus’s quarters. Harry was fresh from class and eager for quidditch practice. Severus had managed to stop him in between. He’d come to some critical decisions and there was no point in delaying them. But Harry needed time to process them. He needed time to adapt to the impact on his life, and his pursuit of athletic prowess was better cut short now than later.

He had to deal with this in his own way.  
Severus couldn’t make the adjustments for him, though he wished he could.

This was the problem with loving someone so much younger than yourself. This was the problem with it being Harry. It was challenging enough to maintain his stance against Harry’s rebellious nature, and to do so while keeping up appearances in front of faculty and students alike. But now the boy was family. Closer than family, and things had to be handled differently. Harry knew that he deserved more than a brusque dismissal, and he did. That was the problem with kids growing up. They reached a point where they were no longer fooled by authority. They reached the point where they saw right through you.

This was the guilt of bringing the young man’s freedom up short, though Harry himself had instigated that result, not Severus. Still, the child inside Harry, was his and he had to be firm.

“No more quidditch. No more broom, period. Tonics daily. A strict diet. You’re to move in with me, where I can keep watch on you. No more hunting down trouble with your friends.”

Like anyone, Harry was put off by the intrusion into his freedom. But the tests which proved Severus to be the biological father, along with his age, awarded him the legal right to set restrictions. Especially since Harry admitted in a hearing before the Ministry, to being the one to initiate and persist in achieving sexual intimacy, without knowing that it could result in a male pregnancy to begin with. The boy’s ardor could’ve had him facing juvenile charges of misconduct against a teacher. But Severus stepped in and made it known that he shared Harry’s feelings, just not his erratic hormones. He’d always intended to keep their relationship platonic. As a mature adult, he was ready to assume the role of guardianship to Harry and the child. He was ready and willing to become the father that Harry had made him.

Harry listened to all of his restrictions sullenly. When Severus finished, waiting for inevitable protests, Harry’s green eyes seem to weigh his options. They glinted with that emerald, vaporous power that had always unnerved Severus and excited him at the same time. The boy was no idiot, however much he tempted one to think it. What he lacked in maturity, he made up for in egocentric machinations that went far beyond his years. His soft voice was just as demanding and methodical as Severus’s restrictions were.

“So if I’m to let you control my life for nine months--”

“Ten. It is a male pregnancy, not a female’s. You will encounter differences.”

Harry blinked back his shock, but continued, “… then I should be compensated.”

Severus frowned at his choice of words, but waited.

“I mean, you do want me to feel welcomed in your home. You do want me to feel as comfortable as possible, right? And since everyone knows now, surely I have rights too. If I have to do all that stuff to make you happy, there can’t be anything wrong with what I want from you. So you can, you know, make love to me.”

There it was. He hadn’t been able to explain to Harry that a grope in the dark, however powerful, however mutual, did not make it all right to abandon caution and continue with a carnal relationship completely unchecked. Their entire situation contained legal perameters for a reason. Had discussions of commitment and custody meant nothing to him? What exactly did his testosterone-addled brain comprehend?

Severus knew the use of the phrase, ‘make love’ was Harry’s naive way of asking for full penetration, something Severus knew he wasn’t ready for. The child’s conception had been accomplished without it, and now Harry felt cheated. He’d have to do all the work, with barely a fraction of the reward. Even though he’d met this fate by his own hands, the demand in his eyes clearly held Severus responsible for setting things aright.

“Please,” Harry begged. “Before I start feeling all disgusting and my body changes.”

He was happy to assure Harry, “Your body will not change that much, outwardly. You will lose weight as the child gains it. You may appear to grow soft around the middle, but since your male anatomy posits your pelvis in a backward tilt, unlike the forward tilt of a female, you should be spared the protrusion of a swollen belly. However, your organs will have to shift upward to accommodate the child. We will have to monitor your vital signature at all times, especially your oxygen levels and your kidneys.”

Harry’s mouth hung open.

“It is unfortunate that you will not have an enlarged belly to display. That is a natural, defense measure that also warns others not to take your condition for granted, and that extra attention should be paid around you to either ward away the unwanted or watch for behavior that threatens the life of the child. I may have to amend your restrictions to include a warded cloak to advertise your condition and to keep others a few feet away from you at all times.”

Harry looked like the sheer volume of details listed by Severus was going to make him sick. He swallowed. “Yeah, well, as romantic as that is, if you really want me with you, you’ll do it. Especially now that we can be together. Or I’d do it. I’m not afraid to do it.”

“Of that, I have no doubt. If your current predicament isn’t any indication that you may want to slow your penchant for making faulty, disastrous decisions, down, then I suspect a word of caution from me will have little effect.”

Harry folded his arms. “I won’t let you call this baby disastrous.”

Severus kept his eyes half-lidded. “Your decision making process is what I’m calling disastrous, not the child.”

Quite the manipulator, Harry was becoming. If Severus hadn’t been the victim of those eyes and their depth, he might’ve congratulated Dumbledore on teaching Harry to get what he wanted from others, right or wrong. The little shit knew what he was doing.

He did feel bad that he couldn’t give Harry this one thing. Oh, he wanted to. But he didn’t trust happiness, and he certainly didn’t trust a boy of eighteen with something so enduring and life altering as access to the vacancy in his bed. While the pregnancy was a fact, and was not going to be undone, Harry was not going to be the little vixen that totally robbed Severus of his boundaries. They were there for a reason. One of them had to remain stable for the child. And the minute Harry realized he could have any man or woman he wanted, Severus had to have a life still fit for living. No, he had to hold something back. At least until Harry could be trusted to know what he really wanted. Pregnant at eighteen, might either be evidence of that, or proof against it. Only time would tell. And he had to somehow keep Harry off of him, but within reach, until that time presented itself. If it took ten months, if it took ten years, so be it.

“My answer to that is the same as it was yesterday and the day before. The fact that you did not know your magic could create such a child, means that there’s still more for you to know about yourself. It is out of the question to reward your lack of awareness with the full rites of adulthood. Don’t look like that. It is not a rejection, it is parental guidance, to you as well as the unborn. Until you’ve shown yourself capable of responsibility, I will not indulge your adolescent desires. I will not be manipulated by your demands, tempting as they are.”

Harry wasn’t put off. Apparently, Severus needed him to explain it. “You don’t understand. It’s not just sex. If my body would let this happen to me, then it’s doing other things outside my control. Overwhelming things. I need you to touch me, not be my parent. Some nights, it hurts so bad to want you, I can’t stand it. Part of it’s me, but part of it’s this kid. It’s like, the only way for this pregnancy to go well, is if you… touch me.”

That admission brought another dimension into the picture. It was a proven fact that fetal development and term delivery went better for expectant parents when physical nurturing remained constant throughout.

Harry took hold of Severus’s hand and brought it to his stomach. “Engage with it. It knows how close your are, and when you’re not. If I know you won’t touch me, then the baby knows it too.”

He pulled Severus’s hand down to the spot between his naval and his groin. “If I feel rejected, then the baby does too.”

In keeping with his languid tone, he lowered the larger, warm hand even more, to the swell of his crotch. Severus pulled away, reacting to the pulse and heat stirring there. Even one second was enough to savor it filling the palm of his hand.

“Please.”

Severus closed his eyes against Harry’s logic. He could argue with Harry’s emotions anytime, anywhere. But when the boy chose to use his mind for what it was designed for, he was never prepared for that. Perhaps the world was far safer with Harry playing sports instead of focusing all that energy into reading and academics.

He looked into the phosphorous glow of those eyes. Behind Harry’s glasses, his magic showed as viridescent as sunlight through deep pond waters. He beheld that spectacle, and still told Harry, “No. When I sleep with you, it will be because we both want it and both are ready for it. Not because your body is forcing you to behave this way.”

The will, and the light, behind Harry’s eyes, twisted into something hurt. Something dark. “Fine.” Harry backed away, grabbing his books and his broom. “If I can’t get what I need from you, I’ll just have to get it from someone else.”

When he slammed the door behind him, it slammed on Severus’s heart. Severus, who remained standing and thoughtful regarding the next ten months.

If Harry was too young, and still too immature to grasp how serious the risk to his health and the child’s were, he would just have to assume the kind of strictness that had always kept them at odds with each other. At this rate, Harry wasn’t going to calm down from his tantrums any time soon. He would have to wait Harry’s anger out. The boy wasn’t finished being angry with himself, with his body, and with Severus, whether he understood all of that or not. Severus was going to have to be extremely patient. He’d have to wait quite a bit longer before he could ask Harry to marry him.

He gave Harry thirty seconds, before taking off to find him.

* * *

[Top stories from this writer](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1031138)

[New House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285186/chapters/47577052) (This can be enjoyed as a stand alone, or as chapter 3 of [A Wedding](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285186/chapters/45866704))


	3. Needs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry makes a proposition.

****Three weeks earlier****

Severus waited before entering the faculty lounge. One entered, not through a single door, but by weaving left around one privacy wall, then right around another. The portrait set to guard its entry, was an original Abract Durer. On it, the two dimensional round face of Haliford the Piper, peeked out. Haliford took his job as keeper of the password seriously and if one didn’t know it or did not possess credentials to bypass the wards, then he would beam a stern look at you until you backed away and rethought your intentions. He braced himself at Severus’ approach. He and Severus had not always been on speaking terms. But when the portrait came to realize that Severus was simply serious in the same vein as he, not cruel like those spoiled students and some of the other portraits claimed, dialogue became easier for both of them. It would never be warm, but it would be mutual and respectful.

“You don’t want to go in there,” The portrait warned him. “Slughorn is in rare form and it’s much too noisy. Apparently, there’s been a bit of news.”

Severus nodded. He thought as much. Dumbledore had released information to the staff only. This was in preparation of Harry’s needs, and marked the first phase of getting everyone adjusted to the coming months. Hogwarts was going to have it’s first male student carry a child during his curriculum. And not just any student.

“The world is watching us rebuild,” The Headmaster stated. “It shall not go unnoticed how we choose to treat Harry, who has set himself apart from other wizards in more ways than one. We will not shame him, and we will not tolerate comments from muggle born who cannot appreciate that male wizards do sometimes carry offspring. We will see that he is honored and given every respect that any female in his position deserves. Whatever happens in these coming months, he shall retain his integrity.”

That was Dumbledore’s take on the matter. However, judging from the laughter coming from within the lounge, integrity was in short supply at the moment. Severus leaned forward and listened.

He gave the portrait a look that stopped any more information from coming forth. Haliford stepped back as Severus stepped forward, bending his head to hear over the threshold. Slughorn’s voice was immediately distinguishable, followed by Madame Hooch’s clogged throat. He liked her, she was sensible enough even if she did sound like her throat was clogged with muggle cigarette butts.

“That’s not very nice, Old Boy. Don’t let Albus catch you talking like that.”

“We already owe him our lives. Now this? And don’t you think it’s strange that Albus wouldn’t tell us who the father is?”

Minerva spoke up. “He would’ve told you if he’d known. That information isn’t clear yet. Potter won’t speak of it. Poor boy, he had no idea this could happen. Perhaps our curriculum doesn’t stress the magical side of contraception and sex enough.”

“Or, perhaps no one in a million years could anticipate that being Harry’s fate. Male students leave here and have life-altering changes in order to conceive a child. What happened with Harry, if Dumbledor’s facts are lined up, has only ever happened so long ago as to become a thing of theory.”

“It’s not enough that he kills you-know-who, he has to surpass every conceivable expectation by having a child as well? I’m beginning to think the boy has a pathological need to be glorified. He saved the world as we know it at seventeen, now he’s knocked up? What on earth is motivating this young man?”

Trelawney patted his sleeve. “Now, Professor, don’t be ungrateful. He can’t help it, really. It’s the sign he was born under.”

“The world is chock full of Gemini. Not one of them would think it advantageous to attract the sympathies that Harry attracts. I’m not ungrateful. I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking. The boy doesn’t rest from one challenge to the next. I try to be sympathetic. An orphan, the sole survivor of his family, the prophesied and all that, left to scour the planet killing dark artifacts and finally the beast himself, in a horrendous battle that I would not have believed if I hadn’t been standing there witnessing it with my very eyes. And now you tell me, he’s pregnant. Do you know how rare that is, Professor?”

“Rare enough to be quite special.”

“Which brings me to my point. How much more special does this boy need to be?”

Beside him, Madame Hooch snorted as she tried to sip her coffee.

Slughorn was on a roll. “I daresay, if he were anymore extraordinary, we’d be calling him our Lord and Savior and attending Mass in his honor. Now he wants to be the bloody Virgin Mary as well? Even you must admit, Minerva, when you heard the conception occurred through astral-fusion, must’ve lost your patience with the boy. How much bad luck can one person have? The chances of that are said to be a hundred million to one. But of course it’s just a normal day for Harry.”

Minerva bit her lip to suppress her laughter. Faculty members standing around the wood stove, sloshed their tea as each gave in to Slughorn’s comedic rant.

Slughorn was still relishing the sound of his own voice, when Severus stepped up behind him.

“Indulging in a bit of ridicule, are we?”

He turned. “Oh, Severus, you of all people can relate. How the boy must’ve tested you. Is there no limit to the privileges the boy makes for himself? I admire ambition as much as anyone, but I daresay, it’s the Triwizard Tournament all over again. The whole world parts for him. I don’t have a trophy mantle tall enough for any worthy memento of the great Harry Potter.”

“Save that bile for the students who cannot escape your classes and must suffer it.”

“Don’t tell me you’re taking up for the boy.”

“You mean a student entrusted to my care? A student, who has done nothing more to deserve your barbs than find himself alone in a predicament for which no other person in this room can comprehend? Shall we nail him up now, or do you want to get a few more arrows in? This is only the young man who did what none of us could do, and it stands to reason that his entire life’s journey would be different from those of his peers. I understand that you may not be acquainted with recognizing the extraordinary in your students. As you say, it is rare. And seeing there is such a lack of it, makes Harry’s excellence stand out all the more. I for one, will protect his honor even as the rest of you slander it.”

Slughorn put down his tea. “Oh come now. I’m only having a bit of fun. The boy’s not here to get his feelings hurt. Mind you, I know how to conduct myself.”

“That is my point. You know, yet you do not. And at a time when it is needed the most. How tragic that I have to point out to a man of your age and experience, that quality of character isn’t something that matters only when the world is watching. It matters most when no one is watching. That’s when one’s integrity achieves the greatest significance.”

“That’s grand talk coming from a double agent. Is that what you told you-know-who when you watched Charity Burbage take her last--”

His words were choked off by Severus’ grip on his collar. He gurgled from the readiness of words and the sudden loss of air.

“Last breath?” Severus finished for him.

The other teachers stepped back as McGonagall stepped forward. “Now Severus, let him go at once! He’s a silly old fool, he’s had his laugh.”

Her hand on Severus’ sleeve was gentle. She knew him better than any teacher there, and knew his strike from his warning. If he’d really meant to hurt Slughorn, he had sense enough not to do it in front of a room full of witnesses. If he’d merely left the room without saying anything, then she’d be worried. But as it stood, this was a warning. She knew who the father of Harry’s child was thought to be, and she understood his anger. She wasn’t violating Severus’ and Dumbledore’s confidence by blabbing it to the other teachers. But neither would she see Severus tormented by the attention-seeking criticisms of a star-struck codger like Slughorn.

How she wanted to let Severus get in a swing for that Charity Burbage shot. Had Slughorn been ten years younger, she might’ve turned her back for a minute. But he was just old and stupid, and her friend didn’t need anymore legal trouble. Besides, they had all laughed, and Severus was right. How they conducted themselves during this unprecedented time, was more important than ever.

“Horace, that was completely out of turn. We all know that Severus could do nothing for that dear woman, but get himself killed along with her, and then what help would Harry have had? Just admit you’re bullying the boy behind his back. We’ve all had a guilty laugh. Now let’s put it behind us and act like teachers.”

Only when Slughorn’s eyes were watery and fearful, did Severus release his grip. He so longed to tell them all that he was the father. They would never believe it, and that’s what made the thought so tempting.

He let Slughorn pull away. His stare raked across everyone in the room. Now that he had their attention, he warned them.

“The father of Harry’s child is going to come to light. And when it does, remember that you have laughed at a student in a time of need. You have denied your compassion. You have spoken your true feelings out of ignorance, to one who is keeping score.”

He turned and left.

 

****Present Day****

 

Harry lay in bed a minute longer, thinking about his situation.

He liked his new room in Severus’ quarters. Even though it was plain, it had charms on it to allow for almost any décor. He gave it Gryffindor colors and arranged the appearance of three other beds around a wood burner, just to make himself feel more at home. It was illusory, but he quickly realized, the beds only emphasized the absence of other students and made him feel even lonelier at night. Still, it was more privacy than he could ever manage in the dorms.

Since moving in with Severus and being nearer to him, his body seemed to require that he take advantage of this benefit more than ever. He especially appreciated it at night. He could imagine what Severus was doing in his room and didn’t have to worry about anyone noticing his hand twitching under the covers. He could even lay on his back with the covers off, and for once in his life, not worry about someone seeing. Those were the times he thought about Severus undressing in the next room.

In reality, Severus wasn’t in the next room. He was several rooms away, which added to Harry’s frustrations. This was no way to treat a war hero. Especially not a knocked up war hero, who’s life couldn’t get anymore uncertain. Denying him sex seemed a ridiculously petty ode to responsibility, especially after everything that’s happened. He was old enough to kill Voldemort, but not old enough to drop to his knees and find out what Severus hid behind all those buttons? And he was legal to boot. And he knew that Severus wanted him too. He must’ve. That moment in the shadows, months ago, his lust hadn’t held back. Harry could still feel his ribs grind in the strength of Sev’s embrace.

His hand slipped into his shorts as he thought about it. As it lowered, he was careful to scan the flatness of his stomach for changes. He didn’t linger there. He didn’t want to think about it. He could hide it, if it came to that. Sev had said that he wouldn’t show, but he had to make peace with that fear anyway. He was still a man, and any threat to that was unacceptable. There had to be a way to go through this without losing who he thought he was. It was especially difficult when he had no predecessors he could turn to. It didn’t dampen the desire he felt for Severus at all.

He could still feel that wall of a body press into him, all hot fabric and gusts of breaths. It had began with Harry’s insistence, with his begging, with trapping his teacher with the ultimatum to either kiss him or use physical force to remove him. After diving off a cliff with Voldemort, the ability to say whatever he had to, to get what he wanted, simply came worlds easier than it did before. He wasn’t afraid anymore. Nothing really scared him, outside of seeing his friends threatened. Severus was still a dark abyss he wanted to explore, and one of the few things that still held the power to make him feel strange and giddy inside. They had fought on the same side of the war after all, and that proved to be such a relief, that it flooded him with appreciation for Sev. With love. Finally, it was safe to fall in love.

This wizard was compatible. He’d seen horrible things, done things he could not take the easy way out of. He could handle Harry. This wasn’t some dainty teenage girl the world wanted to see him wed. Ginny was lovely, but years of surviving attacks on his life, taught him that he had other tastes. The only skirts he was interested in, were those robes worn by one self-contained Dark Arts teacher.

If it wasn’t for him, Severus wouldn’t have returned to the teaching position. Slughorn had agreed to stay on in Potions another two years to help the school settle. Severus was qualified to take other positions, but Harry told him the only way he’d go back and finish his education, was if Severus returned with him, and taught Defense Against the Dark Arts properly.

“We were interrupted by a war,” Harry had pleaded by Severus’ hospital bed. “Come back with me and show them how you really would’ve done it.”

Severus’ recovery from his injuries were going well. So well, he’d been certain of retiring before Harry placed his hand over his when they were alone.

“Let’s shut them up. Or give them something to talk about. They’re going to discuss us no matter what. Let’s go back together, and make them look like idiots. You’re a good man and a great wizard. If you had been allowed to teach that position, we would’ve been better prepared. Don’t retire without using this second chance to do what you’ve always wanted to do. If I can’t graduate under your instruction, then I won’t graduate at all.”

That’s exactly what he announced when interviewed. As the poster boy for the war, the statement had the Ministry doing everything it could to sweeten the deal for Severus’ return.

Harry had omitted his plans to make a life-long fantasy come true of seducing his teacher in the corridors, under the very noses of reproachful portraits. He got what he wanted, to a degree. And then some. Everything was going great until… Until this. Nobody told him he could get pregnant.

Now he was stuck two rooms away from Severus, confined to utter celibacy, no quidditch, and vomiting the concoction of liver and protein nutrients that Sev made him drink every morning. He couldn’t keep it down, but that didn’t stop it from being served to him.

“You will be able to ingest more and more of it in time. Any amount that stays down will only benefit yourself and the child.”

He hated the way Sev said ‘the child’. It sounded so impersonal, as if this baby wasn’t his. It offended him, and he supposed he’d have to let Sev know it. That was another talk he wasn’t looking forward to.

As he pulled on himself, he dismissed all the unwanted thoughts in favor of all the good. He closed his eyes and let his body flood with endorphins. In the end, it wasn’t the usual pornographic imaginings that sent him over the edge. It was the severity of being pinned down by Severus’ full weight and what that must be like. To be covered entirely, in a heavy wizard undone by his own lapse in standard, his black robes concealing what his body was doing to you, his lips whispering, ‘I’m sorry,’ as you rode the power of his thrusts, and slipped on the intrusion of his tongue. He grounds you into oblivion.

After showering and dressing, Harry examines the profile of his body in the mirror. He appreciates that his stomach is still flat, as if twenty minutes could’ve made a visible difference, and he could somehow be even more pregnant for having a Sev-related wank, than he already was.

This morning, he drinks the brown sludge placed before him, and manages not to bitch or vomit. He gets half of it down. Severus has turned out to be a pretty good cook and makes a point to reward him with bacon alongside his omelet.

Severus remained standing as he drank his own tea. A dish towel slung over his shoulder. Harry noted that normal people were still in their pajamas at that hour. Severus was fully dressed, buttons and all. He, himself, had only dressed early because it seemed expected of him. He wondered if there would ever come a day when he could walk around Sev’s quarters in his underwear, and have it be okay? That didn’t seem likely.

“You know you don’t have to cook for me. You’ve got classes to get ready for. You could let an elf do it.”

“Nonsense. This is the one meal I must attend with you. The mornings will reveal any significant changes in your adjustment. I must be present before you manage to hide them to keep your friends from worrying. And I don’t trust any house elf around your ability to charm your way out of drinking your nutrients.”

“Warden.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Did you sign my Hogsmeade permission slip yet?”

Severus pursed his lips and Harry knew what was coming. “You said you’d sign it.”

“I said that I would consider it.”

“This is bogus. I’m an adult, I’m trying, and I even drank that disgusting stuff. Please just sign it.”

“Keep in mind that, war hero or no, your adult privileges were compromised when you were found guilty of contributing to your own delinquency by your predatory advances towards me, and the court awarded me guardianship for the next year.”

“I refuse to be sorry for what I did. I’m doing my best to cooperate. Just let me go out with some friends. Without quidditch, that’s the only social life I have.” He could still attend games, even if he couldn’t play, but he wasn’t about to hand that ammunition to Sev.

“There’s been a development. The terms of permission have changed. I can’t watch you in the village, and I can’t be with you. You may attend, but you will have to do so under the chaperon of an elf.”

Harry’s mouth fell open.

“Furthermore, your curfew has been adjusted. You are now required back indoors at Hogwarts a full hour before your classmates. This assures your location prior to nightfall. Since you are now living with me, I can’t have you coming and going at anytime during the evening. Your hours must be regulated with mine. You don’t have to be in bed, I simply have to know that you are in for the night, before I can attend to my routine.”

Harry’s head whipped back and he sighed so strongly that the entire action felt absolutely involuntary. His chest sank under the force of air leaving him. He realized he must’ve looked quite dramatic, but he defended himself to Severus’s pointed glare.

“No matter how much I try to cooperate, you find a way to make this even harder. It’s bad enough that you ignore me every night, but now I have to be inside earlier for that whole process?”

“Mr. Potter--”

“Harry.”

“Your situation is easily remedied by using the time to study, just as you would do were you not confined to curfew. You can’t feel ignored and study at the same time.”

Harry gave up his pretense of eating and let his fork fall to his plate. “This is cruel.”

“It’s called self-discipline, and it’s only till graduation. Do not make this out to be such an injustice.”

“It is an injustice. You’re punishing me for getting pregnant. That’s what it feels like.”

Gently sighing, Severus pulled out a chair and sat down. “Isn’t this child worth a handful of months lived in extreme caution? This is no ordinary child. It’s ours. Me, a former Death Eater, and you, Voldemort’s killer. I know my methods are hard on you, but this is not forever. Now that people know your condition, you have a new vulnerability to hidden enemies. I will not have you going anywhere without my presence or a chaperon. And you better believe, the elf at your side will not be of kitchen stock, but a trained bodyguard.”

Sev’s rationale did make sense, and Harry warmed to the fuss he seemed to be making over him. But an earlier curfew just sounded grueling. “I understand that you want to protect me. Us. And that feels great. But it also feels impossible. I’m young and I need to get out. I need to socialize.”

He thought he must’ve made a mistake when he saw Sev tense at the word ‘young.’ He was already having trouble getting the guy into bed because of that.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make it an age thing. Forget I said that. It’s irrelevant. It’s just me. Moving around, being able to come and go when I want, being with friends. That’s just who I am. I got so little of it at the Dursley’s, I’m starved for it.”

Inspiration hit him. He placed his hand on Sev’s sleeve. “I don’t want some stranger elf scrutinizing my every move. I need real company. If I can’t hang out with my friends and be myself, then you take me out. You and I, let’s go on a real date in Hogsmeade. If you say yes, I’ll even let the permission slip thing drop. Take me out, just you and me.”

By the look on Severus’ face, this proposal presented a formidable challenge.

“Harry, you know I can’t do that. I want you to be happy, but I must insist upon a professional relationship for the time being. We’ve talked about this.”

“No, you’ve talked about it. You’ve told me what I’m going to do. I’ve yet to agree with it. Don’t shoot me down without thinking about it. It’s the only thing that makes sense. You’ve practically adopted me. Wouldn’t you take your kid to a movie? I’m worth a night of entertainment, away from your precious books. We can keep things innocent, but you have to wear me on your arm properly. Give me that, and I’ll shut up.”

This wasn’t entirely true, but he had no qualms about letting Sev think it was.

After a moment, Severus awarded his ability to reason. “I shall consider it.”

“The permission slip then?”

“Do you agree to your new curfew?”

The answer stuck in Harry’s throat. “Sure, as long as I’ve got a date to look forward to.”

***

In the village, Harry clustered with his friends, sampling shop after shop. After years of Hogsmeade visits, trips were not as eventful, or as interesting, as they once were when he was younger. Still, the shops’ survival, the steady flow of commerce amid a rural wizarding community, was something special. New goods and delights found their way to display windows and made shopping for even the most basic supplies, a refreshing social venture.

The elf Severus assigned to him, stayed off to the side, giving Harry the illusion of freedom. He was a serious sort, who had shaken Harry’s hand upon introduction and mumbled when Harry pointed out that he was wearing a proper blazer instead of a pillow case. “You’re all business. Very smart-looking.”

The bald little creature stuck out his chest and stood even straighter. “Grail’s the name. Master Severus hires a job. It is the job that’s important, not the fashion.”

Once Harry saw that Grail didn’t care for jokes or small talk, he stopped trying and focused on his friends. Ron and Hermione had also elected to finish their final year, but balanced such an assortment of compensating classes between them, that it was tricky getting to see them at all. They all managed to meet at the Three Broom Sticks and engage over drinks and a meal.

He still wasn’t willing to indulge Hermione’s questions concerning his body or the pregnancy. She kept offering her shoulder, her ear, and her help with any research he wanted, and he kept avoiding the topic altogether. Talking about it, required more intimacy than he felt comfortable with, with her. He loved and appreciated her, but it hit a spot that he only felt right talking to Severus about. And even then it was just too weird. No matter how smart she was, in her head, only women had babies. He knew, even if she never admitted to it, this was mostly a fascinating novelty for her. Yes, she’d help him. Yes, she’d be loyal to whatever he needed. But he still felt freakish in her eyes. There was something about the way she put her entire heart into the way she looked at him. The honesty in her eyes told him how sorry she felt for him. He didn’t need that, so he kept it light and avoided the topic when he could.

Ron was easier to deal with. He wasn’t constantly offering reassurance, so that told Harry that there wasn’t a war of how acceptable Harry’s condition was in his mind. His lack of maturity was on Harry’s side. The war had caused Ron to grow up a lot, but he wasn’t about to break guy-code and start chattering on about the baby in his best bloke’s belly. That topic was a silent, slow burn between them that sparked along a long fuse. Sometimes he thought he could feel Ron’s concern by the tension in his silence. It wasn’t about the dishonor of being a pregnant male. It was about how Harry was coping, and what was all this doing to his health. As yet, he hadn’t found the words, or the right moment to get up his courage and ask. Harry had never told him when, exactly, his friendship had been replaced by Severus’ and that further complicated things.

But after surviving war, you don’t throw away your friends just because a mountain of confusion falls on you. You gather. You laugh when you can, and cry in private when you can’t. And you certainly didn’t talk about the elephant in the room, when no one else was talking about it, and you could hardly believe it was real. He found Ron’s silence to be quite merciful and knew that when the time was right, he’d invite him to ask all the questions he wanted.

There were other friends and acquaintances who vied for Harry’s company, and he tried to share his time with everyone who squeezed into their booth.

Everyone in the village knew who he was and tried harder not to treat him any differently than they treated the other students. When he and others at his table ordered hot fudge cake, he could hardly hide his embarrassment at having the biggest slice with the most whipped cream, and extra cherries. He told himself it was just because the waitress serving it, was sweet on him, not because she was deliberately being unfair to his classmates who’d received lesser service. He loved the idea of being able to eat the dessert, but guiltily said nothing when Grail transformed the cake into a kale shake substitute.

“Master Severus says sugar is to be at a minimum. You’re only allowed chocolate.”

After seeing the pained look on his face, everyone withheld their jokes about his restrictions, and Severus’ skill at vigilance. Seamus did let out, “Bly me, Harry. You and your boyfriend. You had to go and get the toughest guy on the block, didn’t you?

Nervous laughter cooled the tension and conversation recovered. Harry felt self-conscious after that, and didn’t regain interest until he looked up to see two unexpected figures walk in the door. Draco held the door open for his father, then entered behind Lucius. It seemed such a mature, considerate thing to do, Harry let himself admire how the father and son made their way to a table down from their booth.

As far as Harry could tell, Narcissa was not with them. It must’ve been a special occasion, this weekend between them. Since the trials, he’d only caught glimpses of the Malfoys, including Draco. Though there was much they could’ve said to each other, neither seemed ready or willing to drag themselves back into that toxic head space. There seemed to be a truce. Draco’s classes were deliberately arranged around his. Dumbledore conceded that both boys had been through enough and there were no forced interactions. When Harry did pass Draco, and their eyes met, there was usually something wounded in them. Apparently, the trauma put maturity where there was none before. But other times when they saw each other, Draco’s defiance reared its head in refusal to look away. He no longer sneered, but his expression held solemnity that assured Harry he’d suffered enough.

Lucius Malfoy had almost died in Azkaban. When his wife’s health faltered in response, Draco was able to prove that the two possessed a bond that would kill her if anything happened to him. She didn’t deserve death just because she’d had the misfortune to promise her life to him long before the war ever happened. His appeal was taken seriously. Harry had been ready to step in and support it, but he’d won the case on his own, and gained his father’s freedom. Lucius’ magic was completely restricted. He couldn’t carry a wand, but he lived in the comfort of his own home, within the life he was accustomed. Any magic he needed doing, he kept a valet at his side to do it.

Unaware, or unconcerned with being watched, father and son appeared surprisingly relaxed in the informal atmosphere. Draco’s old glow seemed to come out in his father’s attention, and Lucius actually looked him in the eye and spoke more words directly to him than Harry could ever remember seeing. They had a real relationship now. As Harry stared, he wondered if that’s what he and his own father would’ve looked like together, had James Potter lived to see this day. To say that he was impressed, was an understatement. Draco and Lucius did look spectacular together. Their relationship kindled like a warm fire that Harry could only see from the outside of a frosty pane of glass.

As the time was nearing to head back to school, a tremendous ache filled him. He tried to stay in the group conversation, but couldn’t help but notice when Draco and his father stood. Draco hugged Lucius, and from what he could make out, gave his father a very public, very unashamed, good-bye kiss and walked passed Harry’s table and out the door. In the second Harry needed to recover from that, he realized that Lucius intended to stay a while longer.

He knew what he was going to do. He even knew why. He just wasn’t clear on how. That never stopped him before, and he told Grail that he needed to speak to Mr. Malfoy alone. “Don’t follow me, I’ll be within your site.” He excused himself to his friends.

In Draco’s absence, Mr. Malfoy had begun to read a newspaper article. No doubt he’d resigned himself to waiting on transportation since he couldn’t use magic. But then, his wife was still wealthy enough to make sure a driver waited on him at all times, so that didn’t make sense. Could it be that he was choosing to stay simply because he wanted to?

Harry hadn’t realized how long he’d been hesitating until the wizard looked up and caught him staring. Without waiting for an invitation, Harry steeled his nerves and went to the table. He didn’t have to speak first. Lucius’ eyebrows raised at his approach.

“Well if it isn’t our Lord and Savior. How may I help you Mr. Potter?”

Harry made a conscious decision to not take offense. “Hello, Mr. Malfoy. I saw Draco a moment ago. Did you have a good visit with him?”

“Exceptional.”

Harry waited. When no invitation came, he asked, “May I sit down?”

“Only if you intend to insert yourself into my affairs regardless of what I say.” Lucius’ smile could’ve chipped ice.

Harry thought to defend himself and walk away. Why did he need to appeal to this person? He wasn’t going to win Lucius over any time soon, so he resorted to something he only reserved for the people who loved him, and for impossible situations. He sighed in defeat, as if he could not hold back all the weariness of the last five years, and let them roll on his shoulders. He was sure his body weighed doubled when all that effort came to the forefront. He was sure that other people could see it because they usually changed their tunes pretty quickly.

Lucius’ poker face held that he was immune.

Harry couldn’t even commit to a full shrug. “I was just hoping you’d give me a moment. Never mind.”

He turned away, and heard Lucius clear his throat. Keep walking, he told himself. Mean it.

“Mr. Potter, I am about to meet a colleague for drinks. If you have something to say, I invite you to say it.”

Harry turned back. He licked his lips and pulled off his jacket before sitting down. He had a sneaking suspicion what Lucius’ tastes were, married or not, and he had to use every asset he possessed while he still had it. His body might soften, but right now it was fit and his T-shirts made girls stare. He had no qualms about showing just what was being offered. And he was going to make a point to offer it. Lucius might just be the perfect competition to make Severus take him seriously.

He was Sev’s old friend, and at one point, had been just as obsessed with Harry as his son. No one ever spoke about it, but when Harry was fourteen and he’d confronted Lucius a time or two, he’d seen dark, secretive lust alongside murderous rage. It had never been acted upon, and remained a suspicion. Lucius had obviously mellowed since his imprisonment, but Harry gambled that he could inspire interest. Enough to give Grail something alarming to report to Severus. Then Severus would have to see how hard up he was to be claimed by the right wizard who could do it.

The whole time he’d been staring at the Malfoy men, he realized how handsome Lucius was. A thing he could never admit until now, and maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to make an impression. A different impression than he’d made in the past five years. He wasn’t a child anymore. He wasn’t a victim anymore. And Lucius had had six months of twenty-four hour surveillance by dementors, who hadn’t let a single ray of joy into his existence during that time. He’d almost died from it. If Narcissa’s love hadn’t saved him from that torture, he would be dead. Harry was sure that he’d suffered enough to be given another chance. To be forgiven. To be a contender in a game of seduction. His damnedest effort, had gotten him groped by the deadliest teacher he knew. Perhaps half as much with this wizard could get him half the jealousy to finish it.

Lucius pulled a face at the removal of the jacket, but said nothing. The waitress came by, and Harry ordered a shot for the both of them.

Something soured on Lucius’ face. “Mr. Potter, I asked you to sit down, not move in. What did you want to speak to me about?”

“How’ve you been?”

Lucius closed his eyes for a second. He appeared to be counting, before opening them again. “Please don’t tell me you’ve detained me to make small talk. I hear you’re brilliant, you must know that I don’t care for you.”

Blunt honest struck Harry as humorous. Even perfect. “I guess that’s why I’m here. The most valuable prizes are the ones out of our reach.”

“Oh, great. Philosophy. In your vast experience of eighteen years, you’re going to attempt to flatter your way into conversation.”

Get sexy. Get sexy! Harry was nosediving. He pulled up. He did this thing where he ran his hand through his hair, bowed his head slightly, and looked at his target over his glasses. He was serious now, and he wanted Lucius to know it.

“I realize that we can never be friends, and I’m not asking for that. I saw you and Draco, and I was moved. You two seem to be recovering just fine, and whether you believe me or not, that makes me happy.”

Lucius lifted his chin and weighed this assessment. “If you’re so happy, then why aren’t you off with your friends? You have your whole life a head of you. Don’t tell me, remorse has you seated at my table.”

“Let me finish. You know I’m seeing Severus.”

“I do.” His response was dry, his face drawn.

“Well, we’re having problems. You’re an old friend of his, not to mention Draco’s father. Like it or not, we have history. I got to thinking, since you and Draco look so… Well, you look like you’ve moved on. It’s admirable. When you’re sitting on the outside of it, looking in, it looks like you two haven’t missed  
a step. It looks like you have something that I don’t.”

“Where is this going?” Impatience sounded in his tone.

Under the table, Harry thought his foot brushed Lucius’. It could’ve been the table leg.

“I forgive you. That’s all. You know Severus better than anyone, and it just seems right to try to talk to you.”

“There’s nothing right about it. You and I should not be conversing. Not with our, as you say, ‘history.’”

Harry lowered his voice. “I can’t get him to sleep with me.”

Lucius was smart enough not to say a word. He waited, unsure of why he was being told.

“He’s so scared that he’s going to corrupt me. I’m already corrupted, because it’s all I want.” He held eye contact with Lucius while he said it.

He paused while the waitress dropped off their shots. Harry slid one across the table. Wordlessly, Lucius slid it back. “No thank you.” His tone was now neutral as he eyed Harry, who lifted his drink and mimicked a toast. Lucius stopped him from putting it to his lips.

“Put that down. You don’t want to do that.” He shocked Harry by pulling the drink out of his reach.

“You say that you and Severus have never slept together. That’s not what I heard, and therefore I cannot, in good conscience allow you to poison his offspring with your excess. You are obviously feeling sorry for yourself, and while your devastation may seem paramount, no doubt your heroic-sized ego will have you up and conquering all things evil in no time. Why don’t you go find yourself a bad person to bring to justice? That ought to make you feel better. I think they’re created just to give people like you something to do.”

Harry was quick. “I found the worst one I could, on such short notice.”

Lucius feigned mirth. “You are very confused. You’re too young to drink like a sailor. And if you were my son, I’d make sure your curriculum kept you so busy that you had no time to doubt yourself, let alone wallow in self-pity like a wizard five times your age, who knows real burdens.”

“I know real burdens.”

The other wizard stopped and considered it. He nodded. Harry did know burdens, but that wasn’t what he meant. “I simply meant that you’re too…” In his pause, in the honesty that crossed his face, Harry was sure he saw the word ‘beautiful’ about the spring from his lips.

“Healthy. You’re too healthy to risk damage to all that youthful vigor. And however much Severus likes you, he will not forgive harm to the one you carry.”

Harry’s foot hit the object under the table again. The way Lucius pointed his nose at him, told him it was definitely his foot. He felt the wizard’s shoe slide out from in under his questing sneaker.

“If he likes me so much, why won’t he sleep with me?”

Lucius looked as if he wasn’t about to take the bait. Then he took it. “Are you telling me that that wizard put a baby inside of you without touching you?”

Harry rolled his eyes. "It’s more complicated than that. Trelawney called it Astral Fusion. Our essence--”

Lucius held up his hand. “Please do not speak of your essence. I’m trying to keep my lunch down as it is.”

Harry looked at him squarely. “I’m just looking for somebody who can give me what he can’t. What he won’t.”

He thought of all the desire he had for Severus, and aimed it at the wizard in front of him. “Nobody knows this, but I ache for him. Even my mediwizard says it’s because of the baby, and it’ll grow stronger. I’m miserable. I’m not even showing, and I’d kill to have any man or wizard take his place right now.”

Lucius swallowed under the strain of hearing such personal information. This time, when Harry’s foot touched his, he left it there, forgetting his previous qualms. The man in front of him was positively flushed from the confession. People who lied, usually did not put so much emotion into it.

“I’m afraid of myself right now. I can’t stop the words from coming out of my mouth because you’re my last chance. You’re all that stands between me and picking up the next guy who’s willing. I’ve never done that, but I will. Tonight.”

Disbelief kept Lucius’ mouth open.

“He’s your friend. Wouldn’t he want me to be in your hands, rather than someone else’s?”

He found his voice. “Severus and I no longer have that kind of relationship.”

“But if he found Draco wandering with amnesia, he’d take him in, wouldn’t he? You’d still do that for each other.”

“Leave Draco out of this. Are you truly throwing yourself at me because Severus is disinterested?”

Harry shook his head. “Not disinterested. Worse. Refuses. He wants to, and I know he wants to. I live with him now and I can feel it through the walls. I lie in my bed. He lies in his, and we do nothing. I can come seven times, send it all out to him as I wait on my back, needing him to fill me, and he leaves me alone. I cry from the ache. Right now even, just thinking about the relief, I’d let you shove your hand down my pants and take what you wanted.”

Lucius held up his hand again. “Slow down, Mr. Potter. The gutter does not become you.”

Harry leaned forward. “See! That’s what I mean. I’m a danger to myself and he isn’t taking it seriously. He thinks I’m just a kid. Well this kid needs something huge and hard, and will do anything to get it. And his bloody kid is making it worse and worse every day. And he won’t do a damn thing about it. It isn’t real to anyone else because no one’s going through it but me.”

“Harry!” Lower your voice, was implicit in Lucius’ tone. “What makes you think you have the right to approach me with such personal information? Have you told him? Do you think me such a scoundrel that I’d neglect my marriage and take you up on such an offer in the back alley? This is beyond insulting.”

Remorse started to take over Harry’s expression. “I’ve seen you do things other people wouldn’t do, and still your marriage survived. You and Sev both. I always hated that you hated me. I always envied Draco. He had a father who doted on him, and he adored his father. When I saw you two today, I guess I forgot that we have more reason to stay away from each other, than we do to talk. You’re really very handsome. I always wished I could tell you that. I always wished that it would make a difference in how you felt about me. I don’t know, I can admit that I have daddy issues. That’s why I like older men. And tonight I’m going to find one who’ll fuck me. Sev won’t. You won’t. I’ll keep looking.

He didn’t notice Lucius’ color turn gray with sickening alarm.

“I’m not throwing myself at you because you’re unscrupulous. I’m throwing myself at you because I’m in pain. The only man I want, is refusing me. All systems are a go. Ever seen a cat in heat? It’ll hump anything, and you just feel sorry for it. When you were sentenced to prison, I saw you at your worst. I thought, if you could do me this one favor, it would be a little payback for you. You’d get to see me at my worst. Dignity completely gone. Willing to cheat on Sev. On my knees crying and begging for you to put it in--.”

“That’s enough.” Lucius took the drink he’d denied Harry and threw it back against his throat. He waited out the burn, and the hope, shimmering in Harry’s eyes. He thought very hard about his next words.

“I promise nothing. You’re resourceful. If you have the wherewithal to escape your oppressor tonight, I will be staying at Rosalee’s Bed and Breakfast. If you so much as step outside this facility with such an offer in your tiny, confused mind, you will be descended upon by the worst that Hogsmeade’s underground has to offer. They smell innocence like raw meat. Don’t be so willing to give yours up to anyone. Regardless of what I may or may not think of you, if my son were foolish enough to make the same offer, I pray to god that someone would have the decency to get him off of the street.”

He stood and slid something across the table. “This will get you into my room. Do not show up before eleven.”

Without another word, he left Harry alone at the table.

Harry blinked at the key card. He didn’t fully comprehend whether he had succeeded or not, or even what he intended to do. He’d talked a good game. And he hadn’t lied. All the stuff he’d said about his body, about letting Lucius do things to him, was true. And with the opportunity so prominent before him, even his body hummed with eagerness to find out. But his brain put on the breaks.

Did he just seduce another middle-aged wizard into having sex with him? Not that it had completely worked the first time, but it certainly was beginning to be a thing. His cock said stop thinking. You’re not good at thinking. Lucius Malfoy’s hands were wide and strong, his ringed fingers blunt and muscular, and they’d tear his jeans wide open to get to him. They were tan, darker than the skin on his face. They’d look pink wrestling in the thick of Harry’s black curls, and he wasn’t thinking about the hair on his head. The thought alone, caused a wee bit of seepage and he looked for a bathroom where he could finish it off.

Grail got him back to the school before curfew. He could tell that Sev was impressed, and they enjoyed a meal that was part of the great feast going on in the Hall. Since Dumbledore acknowledged them as a couple, Sev was relieved of his duty to appear at meals on weekends.

“You must now invest your energies into keeping your young man as happy as you can,” Dumbledore insisted. Even Harry had said that it wasn’t necessary to miss meals in the Hall. He’d be happy to continue as he and Sev always had, but there was something insistent and quite unyielding in the Headmaster’s kindness. “No, no. I won’t hear of it. You two have so much to prepare for. When you recover from the shock of all this, you’ll find good use of intimate meals.”

Weeks into their new living arrangement, and Harry was still waiting for that good usage to kick in. He tried to take his decision about Lucius seriously, and weigh the consequences of cheating on Sev, but each attempt had him focusing on the fork going into Sev’s mouth. He wished the same act could be done with his cock, with as much lack of concern for what was decent and right, or young or old. Just suck me, already, he thought. Under the table he squeezed himself, just to use a lesser pain to dampen a greater one. It really wasn’t his fault, what he was about to do, and a plea to have Sev take him over the dining table before he had the chance to wreck their relationship, stayed on his tongue throughout dinner.

Severus cleared the table without using magic. Harry watched his day coat swing around his thighs as he moved in and out of the hinged doors that separated his small kitchen from the dining area. Sev had a great body. His stillness could fool you. He could plant himself like stone, then move with strides so vigorous and crisp that you had to question his age. Harry knew why. Beneath the swell of his teaching robes, he had a svelte quality, even though he was quite robust. His excessive clothing gave the impression that he was larger than he really was. He was certainly larger than Harry, with a waistline that marked him as being older and more dominant, but he was also very agile and spry. Just ask the kids he hunted down when McGonagall reported a truancy. Those kids never seemed to see him coming.

As Severus surprised him with a light dessert of Jell-O and cream, his treat for drinking Grail’s green shake, his thoughts turned to role playing. Sev would make a great priest. His cravats already had him looking like a thirteenth century parishioner. Harry could’ve transfigured his school robe into a choirboy's, and they could sin like nobody’s business. In fact, he was engrossed in the image of sucking whipped cream off of Sev’s thumb while the good Father bent over him from behind. Could people really come like that?

A loud ping sent his head spinning. The tone pierced his ears and brought water to his eyes. He wiped them, looking up to find Severus standing over him.

“I asked, would you prefer tea or milk with your dessert?”

Harry could now see that the assault had come from a spoon being gently tapped against a saucer, right in his ear. He rubbed at it. “Tea, thank you.”

Judging by the tightness in Sev’s voice, he must’ve been asked several times. He swallowed his embarrassment. It wasn’t his fault. His body was all messed up and it was affecting his thinking as well. He couldn’t eat his dessert and he couldn’t watch Sev eating his without associating those juicy red bits of shaking wetness with the most vulgar images he could think of.

He had no idea that he’d lifted his spoon to his mouth, and held it midair, before Severus called him on it. He’d been staring at the wobbly bits, watching them glow neon against Sev’s pale skin, and wishing a chunk would fall into his lap. If it did, he would race to it and devour it right off of Sev’s crotch and not stop going. He’d make it feel so good, Sev would be pinned to the pleasure and wouldn’t have the strength to throw him off.

“Harry! What on earth is wrong with you this evening?”

Again, and impatient tone jarred Harry from his fantasy. His spoon was still midair. His brain took a snapshot of himself, and he let the spoon fall to the floor. Along with his saucer. Jell-O splattered, and he didn’t give a damn because he was too busy crying. Tears sprang from no where, and he didn’t know how to stop it. Not this. Not fucking emotion and feelings spilling out everywhere like guts along the highway. Holy fucking hell, not this. He was not turning into a girl. Being pregnant was bad enough, but the tidal wave of emotion lifting him off his feet, told him he wasn’t going to be able to stop crying.

His sobs tore from him. He’d tried so hard to disregard his feelings about betraying Severus. Wasn’t Sev betraying him? Didn’t he need him right now? Not some fucking, placating dessert. He needed to feel wanted, he needed someone who wasn’t afraid he’d break if they wanted to touch him. He needed Sev to put those huge, heavy hands on him and to mean it. He couldn’t make any of this clear as he choked on all the frustration that bottle necked in his chest. He couldn’t breathe.

When he realized Sev’s hands were on him, attempting to soothe him, he leaned into his chest and emptied his sobs there.

“Harry, you must tell me what’s wrong. You never behave this way.”

The force of emotion wouldn’t let him communicate. He simply held onto the man he wanted and hoped it would be answer enough.

At some point, Severus got the message. Deciphering the emotional needs of another, was new to him. He had the basic’s covered, but subtleties, and supplying them were out of his expertise. In the midst of Harry’s breakdown, he remembered something his mother used to do.

His fingers parted the hair at Harry’s temples and raked tracks into it that lifted it in thick strands, over his scalp. His other grazed over the expanse of Harry’s narrow back, and in this way, supported him as he poured himself to a calmer state. Minutes passed. Harry’s storm subsided.

Severus was going to attempt to pull away, when he noticed Harry’s mouth biting frantically through his coat and vest, to get to his nipple, which responded before he realized what Harry was doing.

“Harry!” He pulled away, startled when the other’s head tried to follow. Harry tried to stay latched on like a hungry, overgrown infant in the throes of suckling.

He was going to accuse Harry of tricking him, but when the younger man drew back, Harry’s face was slick with tears and splotched from the aggression of a hard cry. His lashes glistened with salty water.

“Harry.” A whole stream of admonishments were meant to follow those words, but instead, Harry’s silent appeal had him bending close and covering Harry’s mouth with the kisses he knew the young man wanted. For a moment, it was too delicious to pull back, and he chewed his way past Harry’s teeth with all the fervor of a starved man. He ate, obscene and raw, drawing redness to the surface of Harry’s skin.

Harry’s slender muscles did their best to circle him and draw him in. He led Severus to the dinner table and backed himself on it, not caring if he was sitting on food.

“Do it. Please,” he begged.

He pulled Severus down, opening his legs to accommodate the larger wizard’s mass. Sev’s thick torso crushed him and he relished it. His hands fought to get beneath clothing. Nails left welts where buttons would not open fast enough. While Severus did not leave him, it took some time for him to realize that his hands were not cooperating. They were very still, when they were not mangling Harry’s access to his trousers. It was only when Severus held him by his wrists, and he opened his eyes to the agony on his face, that he realized he wasn’t going to get what he needed. Not tonight. Not from Severus.

As Harry waited for the explanation he’d endured before, he saw that it was frozen behind those gears, wrestled to a screeching halt, by Severus’s will power. He was not going to get an explanation because Severus couldn’t find words through the desire he was busy suppressing. Harry saw what it cost him. He saw the tremors and the illness that passed across his face, as he brought his passion to manageable levels.

He lifted off of Harry. His hand went to his chest like a man having a heart attack, and for a moment Harry was worried. But then Severus straightened and Harry couldn’t read the darkness in his eyes. He wanted Sev to know that he hadn’t tricked him. This was what he needed. This would make the tears stop, but it wasn’t a moment for practical explanations.

Severus put his back to Harry, when he asked, “Have you recovered?”

Having already made a mess of things, Harry was going to lie and say yes, but he thought better of it. He wasn’t going to lie just to spare Sev’s feelings. Sev wasn’t sparing his.

“No. I’ll never recover. If this is what awaits me for the next six months, I won’t make it. Neither will this relationship, and neither will this kid.”

He pushed off the table and swept past Severus’ haunted look.

In the shower, he tried his best to finish what he and Sev had started. He rubbed until bruises began to show. His body pumped mechanical climaxes out of him, and the strength in his legs held as he endured standing through them. But still, he craved something more. Each empty orgasm only emphasized that something was missing. Something infinitely better. He dried and gave himself an hour to lie down. His body hurt and he was exhausted from wanting something that wouldn’t come. At 10:00 PM, he placed a note on his door asking not to be disturbed, and snuck back out to Hogsmeade, to meet Lucius.

* * *

Top stories by this writer: [Unbearable Series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1031138)

[New House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285186/chapters/47577052) (This can be enjoyed as a stand alone, or as chapter 3 of [A Wedding](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285186/chapters/45866704))


	4. Revealed

A/N:  Okay, please forgive any inconsistencies. My mind wants to build monuments, and is reaching further than I planned. I don’t have a beta, this is all free-style and supposed to be fun. I’ve been trying to finish this story, but it refuses to end and hoarding the chapters until everything is written, is not how I need to work right now, so I’m posting everything I’ve been keeping to myself for the past month (possibly 5 chapters). 

If you see a mistake, or I have to go back and change something, just enjoy what you can. Of course, if you see glaring mistakes in typos or grammar, please point them out. Thank you in advance for being patient and kind. And YES, I need your love and support. I don’t post for “constructive criticism.” That’s inevitable. I post for the satisfaction that comes when someone is enjoying my stories. Since I’m not being compensated for this, I’m not reaching for perfection, I’m reaching for fun. I hope you enjoy. :-) 

* * *

  
*** Weeks earlier ***

He sat in the Great Hall, contemplating the food on his plate and ignoring the banter around him. Not on purpose. His friends noticed. He did not. So many things competed for his attention, Harry could hardly focus on the room around him. So much had changed overnight. And that was wonderful and devastating all at the same time. He’d experienced the best thing he could imagine, followed by the worst news he couldn’t have dreamt of in a million years. It had to be a mistake. Only, he didn’t feel like it was. They would never have told him if they weren’t absolutely sure. 

He looked up at the faculty table, appreciating the hierarchy that placed the man he couldn’t stop thinking about, almost directly in front of him. Snape sat third from Dumbledore’s right, between McGonagall and Slughorn. He had a way of surveying the wider field of the room while keeping his eyes straight ahead and pretending he didn’t see Harry. Harry knew that he not only saw him, but was attentive to everything going on, because openly staring would attract Snape’s eyes like a tractor beam, and result in the most silent of confrontations, that would force him to look away first. He didn’t know when he’d started playing that game at meals with the Professor, when it spread to the classroom, and when he’d grown bold enough to withstand that lustrous black gaze and not flinch or be the first to look away. Snape had a lot to do with his ability to learn to look adults in the eye and speak through any intimidation. It had a lot to do with facing Voldemort, and all the things that terrified Harry. If he could stare down all that power, he could face anything. Good. He was depending on that. 

In many ways, he still felt doubled over by the blow, as if some part of himself needed time to recover. He was walking around from class to class just fine. But his soul was trying to stand up on shaking legs. Eyes watering and breath no where to be found, he gasped and wondered why he couldn’t die. He could suffer, but he couldn’t seem to die. As soon as these bleak thoughts occurred to him, he resisted the urge to slap them out of his head. The best thing in the world had happened. He had no reason to be upset. This was all going to be fine. No need to give into any fear. And it wasn’t clear what he had to be afraid of exactly. The unknown. It was always the same thing. The unknown. What was going to happen to him, if not even his teachers, or Pomfrey, had ever seen this before? How could such a thing be possible? 

He’d had a few weeks to deal with it now. To try to process it. Trelawney’s books helped, but they were outdated. Modern information wasn’t even in stock at Flourish and Blott’s so he’d had to order some case studies. The mechanics of it, was sinking in. The books were mainly to comfort him that this wasn’t crazy. Someone else had gone through it. Someone else was talking about it. He hadn’t fucked up beyond nature. He hadn’t done this for attention. Not because he needed a follow up act to Voldemort. If he’d known this was possible, would he have done it at all? That question stopped him every time. Why did he have to trace his steps all the way back to it every hour of every day? Repeating the same conflicting thoughts until he was at the same door, afraid to knock. Afraid to see what was on the other side of it. Why couldn’t he find an answer to that question?

Pregnant. That word still made no sense to him. It was an obscene, disgusting word. Not for women. But definitely for him. Something in him still hated the way Madame Pomfrey confronted him with it. Oh, she’d been discrete, even compassionate. Even kind in her approach. But that word still offended him. It scared the shit out of him. It made him think. Would he have approached Snape so aggressively, if he’d known this could happen? He never factored in a baby. Never. Why would he?

“Harry, are you okay?” Hermione asked. 

He didn’t have to look up to know that Ron, beside her, wouldn’t say anything, but would stare until he answered them. 

“Fine.” Everyone knew that was the universal answer for, ‘I’m too upset to talk right now. Let it go.’ 

“You have detention again, don’t you? Honestly, I don’t know what they’re trying to prove. Eighth year wasn’t guaranteed to anyone. You’re doing them a favor by coming back here, and this is how they repay you?”

He closed his eyes. 

“We’re all too old for that sort of discipline, and it just doesn’t make sense why Dumbledore is allowing Snape to heap so much on you.”

“It isn’t detention. It’s Service to the School.”

“Call it whatever you want, it’s too hard on you. You look like you need to go back to bed. Scrubbing beakers and sorting sacks of ingredients after hours, every day, isn’t anyone’s idea of services. I respect Snape, but that’s his job and he has elves to help. Whatever you did to upset him, must surely be compensated by now. It’s been almost three weeks. You’re trying to keep up with homework, tests, and quidditch. Can’t they see you’re not well? If you don’t put a stop to it, I’ll have to say something to the Headmaster, myself.”

Acid jetted in his stomach. 

“She’s right, mate,” Ron leaned forward. “We know it’s all hush-hush. But whatever you did to the guy, it couldn’t have been that bad. You’re crazy about him. Not bad enough to make everyone forget your real contribution to the Wizarding world. Why’re you letting them treat you like this?”

Harry opened his mouth, but the words were unwilling.  His effort turned into a long-winded sigh, and stopped. He had to tell them eventually. He lowered his voice. “I did something. Something bad.” That’s not entirely how he felt, but it was the easiest thing to say.

They waited. 

“I deserve to be punished.” 

He wished he had the strength to word it differently. He felt capable of dealing with whatever judgment any busybody wanted to dish out to him. That wasn’t the same as deserving to be punished. His words sounded wrong, even to his own ears. His friends groaned, unconvinced. 

“Fine,” Ron settled. “Don’t tell us a single thing. We only fought by your side. We’re only the people who care about you the most.”

Heated now, Hermione folded her arms. “If you’re just going to continue to shut us out, at least give us a better reason than that. It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it, but don’t sit there and tell us you’re willing to work yourself into a hospital bed over something punishable by Potions-duty? A week, maybe, but not this long. Harry, your coloring is awful. You’ve lost weight, and frankly, you’re so thin, you look effete. The more you hide from us, the more I blame Snape. You practically worship him since you saw his memories. I’m grateful for what he did in the war too, but he’s taking advantage of you, and only you can change my mind about that. I’ll drop the subject, but if my concern increases, I’m going to the Headmaster.”

Trying to follow her words only made him reel. He’d stayed too long, away from the problem that really needed his attention. It dominated the dinner table and took him by the jaw, turning his head back to it. On his plate, green beans glistened limply up at him. There was no way he could eat them. Beans and meat were slathered in a layer of oil so thick, they looked weighted to the plate. This food would sit like a bowling ball on his stomach. The elves were usually great cooks, and he was sure this meal was no different, but no feast compared to the one that had taken place in that closet. He didn’t want to eat. He couldn’t think about anything else. He damn sure didn’t want to think about anything Pomfrey had told him.

How could something so wonderful as those moments with Snape, be possible one minute, and ripped out of his hands the next? 

It happened in the potion’s closet. That’s all he knew. The sight of his plate, Hermione’s unrelenting concern, and a rising tidal wave of unknown fate, worse than facing Voldemort, made him turn to the only warm spot amid an unfriendly reality. The potion storage closet. There, something had smiled down on him and given him everything he wanted. Everything that almost made up for all the tragedy. All the pain. Snape, in his arms. Snape, trapped between the shelf and his body. His teacher having to look on him as a man, not a student. 

It had worked. He’d made up his mind to confront Snape with what he really wanted. With what he knew they both wanted. All this commitment to an eighth year, masquerading as heroic student and teacher, and living up to all the decency expected of him, was turning out to be bullocks. He’d come back to be near Snape, and now he had to admit that that was the real reason. A curriculum after destroying all those horcruxes? Not bloody likely. He showed up for his classes, kept up appearances and did enough work not to embarrass himself on tests, all while keeping one eye on Snape. He still had trouble believing that amazing wizard had fooled everyone, all on his behalf. Well, he knew it wasn’t just for him, but that’s how the magnitude of it all landed on his amazement.

If Snape had died that night in the boathouse, that would’ve scarred him worse than anything else Voldemort could’ve done since killing his parents. After seeing those memories, feeling what Snape felt, he was now a part of Harry, whether either of them liked it or not. Thank God, Harry liked it. No one had ever taken up for him till he made friends at school, or so he thought. To find out that the most intimidating teacher he knew, not only didn’t hate him, but lived his entire life secretly protecting him, was a phenomenal declaration. Funny how the nicest people threw the L-word around like confetti, but someone like Snape, who would never speak it, demonstrated what it really was with his every action. Even when he was being mean, he was hiding his love. How could there possibly be any other person for Harry? How could those moments in the closet possibly be wrong? This didn’t have to change that. He wouldn’t let it.

Sure, he might’ve been a little over excited, but he wasn’t crazy. He hadn’t mistaken the signals. Snape was too proper to ever act on what he felt. Not with a student. So he’d taken responsibility and made the critical move. That way, no one could blame Snape. He'd already taken enough ridicule for having played his role so well. Harry entered that closet three weeks ago and locked the door behind him. He’d stolen kisses before, quick, light, and mischievous, but he meant for this to be different. He meant to prove that he was serious.

All he wanted was for the Professor to cave in a little. Admit he felt the same way a little. Let him steal a deeper kiss. Just something to soothe the yearning and get him through the rest of the year. The potion closet proved ideal. It was private, secure, and had been the place he’d been falsely accused by Snape in his fourth year. It made the moment of backing him against the shelf more exquisite than revenge. 

When Snape came down the ladder, glancing over his shoulder to see who had entered, he didn’t seem surprised. Harry swallowed to moisten his mouth. He steadied his nerves, not wanting to calm himself too much. He needed the excitement coursing through his veins, to pull this off. No matter how Snape responded, Harry was going to feel those distinct lips against his for more than one little second. For as long as he could hold on.

He stood so close, Snape couldn’t exit the ladder without stepping on his feet.

“Mr. Potter, as charming as the world finds your particular propensity for turning up where you should not, I don’t. Step back.”

This insistence only caused Harry to smile as he stepped back. The closet was small and there was really no where to go. Those brusque words didn’t bother him. He was onto Snape. They knew each other too well now. That kind of sharp reprimand was only a source of foreplay to his way of thinking. He made a point of leaning close and inhaling the stiff wool of Snape’s daycoat beneath his open robe. He strained to find any salty, human scent beneath layers of potion ingredients, after shave traces, and silverized soap.

“What are you doing?”

Snape knew perfectly well what he was doing. Intimate knowledge assailed him. In his hospital bed, after the battle, Snape had requested some things brought from his living quarters, since Harry wanted to be of use to him. He made his own soap. Turns out, he infused some sort of gummy mixture of aloe plant and tea trea oil, with colloidal silver and let them set into buttercream-colored bars. His cabinet was filled with a six-month supply, and this amused Harry to no end. Snape was either germaphobic or terrified of werewolves. His entire body was essentially deodorized with the purest atomic form of the mineral. He’d checked Snape’s shampoo. Yep, homemade and liquid form of the same batch.

Stringent cleanliness struck Harry as a female quality and in the closet, it made him want to find the musk beneath the threads. It was all the more endearing. Of course an old fashioned potion maker wasn’t going to go to market for something as basic as soap. The idea of Snape perusing an aisle of Sainsbury’s while his Aunt Petunia nosed her way down the opposite aisle, made him laugh into the folds of Snape’s robe.

Snape’s bodily defenses were more thorough than just all the clothes and wards, Harry surmised. He respected Snape’s privacy enough not to snoop in his drawers and closets, but took advantage of lying on the curtained bed. A deep green Slytherin coverlet, taut enough to bounce a galleon on, accepted his weight as he spread himself on it and stretched out. He bundled Snape’s pillow to his nostrils, making a game of detecting that faint, distinct fragrance, and knowing that, in a world full of billions of people, he’d only ever be able to smell it on one amazing person. Snape. Because he alone knew this and understood the value of it, that kind of logic confirmed for him that he had every right to this teacher. He wasn’t crazy. If you feel this much for someone, that does make them yours, doesn’t it? They had a right to say no, but your love is just as valid as anyone else’s. That had to mean something important.

“Mr. Potter, we’ve talked about this. I’ve asked you to refrain from accosting me when no one is looking.”

“I don’t mind doing it when people are looking as well.” It was a joke, but every muscle group in Snape's face drew tight.

“You’re inability to respect my wishes, puts me in a difficult position.”

“You could relax and let it happen. You’re human, no matter how much you hate it.” He took the opportunity to make his point with the lightest, most non-threatening kiss he could place on Snape’s jaw. See? No hex. No insult. No retaliation. As far as he was concerned, that was permission enough.

If Snape was too professional to acknowledge what was going on between them, then he would do it for him.

“I am also a teacher. Many years your senior, and this behavior of yours is inappropriate. Grotesquely so. You claim a newfound affection for me, but your actions continue to disrespect my authority. No matter what has transpired between us, you are still inconsiderate of the needs of those around you. If gentle reprimand isn’t enough to get a hold of yourself, I will resort to something more painful. I can’t have you stalking me like this. Are you incapable of rational behavior? When you did this to Draco, I thought it simple immaturity, but now I see that it might be pathological in nature.”

Good. Nasty comments. They riled the fight in Harry. And the instinct to fight always forced him to steady himself, which, right then was a plus. All his energy had to be harnessed, so that he could aim his strongest intention at Snape. People were always going on about his eyes. If there were any power in them, he leveled it into Snape’s.

“When I want something, I don’t hold back.” He leaned forward as Snape leaned away. Snape's arms prevented the chest contact he wanted, but he got close enough to feel his breathing.

“Harry, I’m must ask you to come to your senses.” Snape took hold of him, but Harry’s feet remained planted. There was no better time to show him how strong he’d gotten over the summer.

“So you do remember my first name?” He had to look up. “I may never be as tall as you, but I’m not a kid anymore. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

His second kiss was triumphant, striking too fast to have it denied to him. He laughed at the surprise standing on Snape’s face. In that second, his stunned silence admitted something wonderful to Harry. It admitted to Harry’s persuasion and his power. He had finally escaped the psychological confines of an eleven year-old who could be so easily dressed down and shoved aside. Not anymore. Relishing how much he’d grown and how much he was ready for, he let his body close the gap between them, needing to prove it. He took hold of those defensively crossed arms. They were strong in their intertwining clasp, but he coaxed them to unlock. He held eye contact as he felt Snape's strength yield inch by inch. For every fragment of space Harry pushed those heavy arms down, he inserted an inch of himself to fill in the space.

It was a dangerous game. No matter what he told himself. While they both knew Snape wanted this, the other's sense of dignity could flare suddenly, disastrously, if pressed too hard. Snape wasn't good at letting other people take control. Not even when it was of benefit to him.

Harry told him, "You don't scare me anymore." He took those same arms and wrapped himself inside them. Snape wasn't exactly holding him, but he didn't pull away.

"Harry, you are very confused and I will not pander to your delusions. I am not what you want."  
"And what do you think I want, if it's not you?" He pressed his luck, snuggling closer. Snape's body felt as welcoming as a barbed-wire fence, steely razor tips included. An image of wintry, frozen steel tips, turned over in his mind. He risked an unfriendly tear to his skin. He had to brave the cold, before he could find the warmth at the center. Nobody minded winter, when they were cozy by the fire.

"You want something that doesn't exist. A heroic father and lover all in one. You're so grateful to be the recipient of my help during the war, that you view me through distorted affection. My age and my actions appeal to your paternal loss. You've barely grieved. You latched onto my recovery instead. Your fervor conceals tremendous sorrow. And as long as these little games with our professional relationship are allowed to continue, you delay sorting what you truly feel, indefinitely. I am nothing more to you than an excuse to ignore the needs of your own future and life. I have thus far restrained my disapproval because you have earned the delay. However, you are over stepping your bounds and I will use defensive measures to correct your misjudgment.”

He could’ve trivialized Snape’s stark assessment with laughter, but those comments actually stung. They threatened to ruin the playful mood he was in. He’d been about to risk another gentle kiss, anticipating disrupting Snape mid-sentence, but this stopped him. He’d expected Snape's main argument to be about their age difference. To bring his state of mind and his motives into question, felt like an attack. But then he remembered who he was dealing with, and changed tactics. 

He pulled away slightly. Instead of demanding attention with his lips, he let his hand climb the steep path of buttons up. He let his palm rest there, determined to feel evidence of a heart. “You’re not the tin man,” he whispered mostly to himself. “You have a heart, or you wouldn’t have fought the way you did. You love refusing love. Be cold and as logical as you want. You may even be right. But you can be right, and still be loved.”

Snape’s nostrils pinched, as if he’d just taken a whiff of something he didn’t care for. Disparagement looked down its nose at Harry. 

“Love. Is there no end to your self-absorption? I stand here being accused of coldness and logic, while I am using every ounce of love I have to keep you from making a mistake.”

Harry wasn’t smiling anymore. “You could send me away. But you can’t stop what I’m asking of you. Just return my affection and leave everything else out of it. This is about us. I’m not hiding behind my status. Don’t hide behind yours.”

“There’s a difference between hiding and protecting.”

“You still think I need protecting? I killed Voldemort. I don’t need protecting.” Yes, it was arrogant, but goddammit, it was true. 

“Do not take me for a fool, and don’t be one yourself. Voldemort’s fate was certain. Yours is not. It wasn’t possible to mistake the act of destroying him. But you can handle the choices of your youth so badly, that you destroy the course of your entire life. You didn’t expect to survive, so you don’t take your future seriously.”

“You didn’t expect to survive either. We’re perfect for each other.”

“You are not attracted to me and I will not suffer your pretense any longer. Even if you’re only fooling yourself. Your youth and beauty are pristine next to this sagging skin. I dishonor myself to presume I could walk next to you and not be seen for the withering man that I am. I do not have the strength to fight another war, Harry. That war in particular. Not with you. Take your bachelorhood from my sight and go.”

Harry’s heart wilted. “I make you ashamed?” He clung to the buttons. “When we walk down the hall together, you make me proud. And I make you feel ashamed?”

How unfair was that? “You’re a wizard. Not just a wizard, but the best of our kind. Age is not going to be a problem for you. You have no fucking idea how handsome you are. And the Severus Snape I know, doesn’t give a damn what anyone thinks of his appearance. What’s changed?”

We should be able to live the way we want now, in peace, Harry was trying to tell him. Things are supposed to be better, not worse. 

The teacher before him, lowered his voice, but kept his head high. “I’m not ashamed of you. I’m ashamed of myself, for daring to think that I have any right to your affections. And not just because of my age, but because I have not been very kind to you. The greatest rectification I could present, for all that I’ve done towards you, is to send you on your way. You are meant for greater things than myself.”

“Bullocks. You were tough on me, on everyone, to save our lives. We all know that. Now who’s copping out? Behind the scenes, you’re an assassin and a mastermind. Put the spotlight on you, make it about you, and you freeze. You can’t handle love, can you? If you turn me away, you’re really a coward. You’re so afraid of my youth, so afraid of what people think, so afraid of what’s improper, you’d let me waste in my own filth wanting you.”

Muscles tensed around the sockets of Snape’s eyes so hard, Harry decided it would’ve been better if he’d just rolled his eyes like a normal person. But no, Snape was trying very hard not to stoop to normal behavior at the moment. Harry decided to make that very hard for him. He ran his hand across the woolen terrain of chest before him, and eased his other hand up along Snape’s waist. He kept it moving behind his back, hoping to create a slow-dance intimacy. 

Snape’s lips took on gaping outrage, but his teeth remained tightly clinched. Harry could see him calculating the exact moment when he would remove the hands touching him. He was careful to stop short of that point.

“You’re going to make it look like I’m doing everything wrong anyway. I might as well get what I want out of this. Especially if you’re going to push me away. Feel this.”

He made a point of leaning his full weight into Snape, who grimaced. “I’m not faking this. You can’t fake this. I’m very much attracted to you and to your skin.” 

Try as he might, he could not feel the evidence of his arousal returned, through all the layers the other wore. But he felt Snape’s breath coming heavy and harder. He recognized that dry-mouthed swallow, and felt the air thicken around them. With it, his blood turned into racing syrup, condensing a layer of heat around the both of them. His body knew what it wanted. And it knew that Snape wanted it too. 

“If you really don’t feel anything for me. Any desire. Then look me in the eye and tell me right now.”

“I didn’t say that. I can’t give you what you want. It’ll only make things worse.”

“Then you’ve just given me everything I need to hear. To be so mean, you’re actually quite coy, Professor. If you won’t take the lead, I will.”

At that moment, there was only one thing Harry wanted more than anything in the world. It wasn’t Snape’s permission. It was a stepladder. He was done being cute. The kiss he needed to deliver, required depth. He could’ve gotten up on the storage ladder, if he wanted to turn such a serious moment into a comedy. He didn’t. So he stood on his toes and used the gentlest force to encourage Snape’s head down to him. It didn’t take much. His speech was meant to talk his teacher into taking what the world would deny him. Even if it was just for one sweet moment, and not a lifetime. It worked. The kiss was tender, moist, and mutual. 

Here was the deeper contact Harry had pined for. Here was the forbidden opening into a world of dark winds, dark scents, and velvet friction. As if the solid bulk of Snape in his arms, wasn’t quite real enough, Harry strained to cover as much of the larger man’s body as he could. He didn’t want to simply touch him, he wanted to experience him. He wasn’t letting go until this wizard surrendered something of himself. Gave him something he could take from this moment and keep forever. Proof that Snape wanted him too, in a world that said it wasn’t possible. 

He didn’t mean to be so greedy. But when Snape started kissing him back, he knew that hesitation meant risking a great loss. A feast like this wasn’t guaranteed a second time. There was only one answer to an opportunity like this, whatever it brought. Yes, yes, and yes. The door was locked and Snape’s jaw was nudging him wider. Mouth open, Harry had successfully encouraged his tongue forward for the chase. It felt so good to be chased. To be desired. His hands went for the kill. He tried, by way of touch, to lift all the fabric keeping him from what he knew had to be eager and uncomfortable beneath all that suppression. Snape’s hands grabbed his wrists, pulling them away. 

Panicked that Snape might break the spell, he made a desperate move. He reached for that most private of places. A place no one talked about, but everyone eyed to make class more interesting. Even when he hated his teacher, his eyes would drop in defeat and find comfort in the distraction pressing outward, from between the opening of Snape’s coat. Kids slaughtered Snape’s looks all day, with brutal criticisms, but fell respectfully silent when their attention was drawn to that perfect representation of masculine form. What could they say? It was fascinating. They were all expected to pretend something so sexual and natural didn’t merit commenting on, even when it was right in front of their faces. It was somehow more impressive on this severe man who didn’t seem to use it, who didn’t seem to value it, if his chaste concealment, from head to toe, was any indication. It was a source of whispers. Behind neat fabric, that swell was pleasing to the behold. But Harry had always suspected that such clothed prominence had to be hiding something monstrously inappropriate. Something that set fire to his gut and made him tremble to realize that he was holding it. 

Holding it and not letting go. Not showing fear, even though he was terrified of the power in his hand. Terrified of Snape’s teeth clinching, lips thinning, face reddening. His hand would not be pried off, and  that sent storm clouds of deliberate disobedience into the silence between them. This would either make or break their entire history together. The smolder with which Snape pushed at him, and the determination with which he held on, turned the act into more aggression than he’d intended. But there it was. And now that he finally had it pulsing through the fabric, swelling and hardening, even while he struggled to keep it against his palm, he couldn’t let go. He wouldn’t. 

“Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want this.”

Thrill and terror ruled the moment. Snape’s outrage, frozen in open-mouthed shock, only fueled Harry’s excitement. This terrified, this face to face with a life-changing moment, Harry had taught himself not to run, and not to let go. These heart-raging confrontations were filled with the most rewarding energy, if one only had the stamina to hang on and ride the current. Ride the discomfort. Ride the agony. Words were useless now. He didn’t mean for this to turn into any kind of crime. Any kind of attack, but he’d used up all the words he knew, and this demonstration was the only way he knew to make himself understood. He couldn’t leave any room for misunderstanding. And the shape of the heat elongating in his discerning touch, felt incredible.

Dark decision lit Snape’s eyes and Harry braced himself to be struck. He would take it. He would pay the price for getting to have this. Gladly. 

Snape’s face trembled on volatile reactions taking place inside of him. Hair, hanging over his eyes and near his mouth, shook from the pressure building inside of him. Just when Harry turned to deflect the blow, Snape’s body hit him like a brick wall. The force knocked him back, drove him across the ladder, leaving torn skin on his back, and lifted him against the opposite shelving. He grabbed Harry’s arms and held them down. His words were as tight as the wedge he made of his hips between Harry’s legs.

“Nobody calls me coy, Mr. Potter.”

Snape did him the favor of parting his robe and coat. At no point did Harry see the mythical object of flesh that he’d grabbed, but he felt it when Snape’s embrace burrowed a place for itself. The impact stunned Harry into silence, into awe. Snape’s mouth came heavy and fast, knocking Harry’s excitement out of the way. He had to open his mouth or cut himself on his own teeth from the pressure of Snape’s lips. Slick and strange against his tongue, that pink muscle unfurled into him. He met it, and let it know that it was welcomed. He swallowed breath that was not his own, drank foreign saliva, and coaxed by way of hands on Snape’s back, for him to empty himself into Harry’s mouth. All the while, Harry could feel desire tremble in Snape’s muscles. With the other’s tongue filling him, Harry wanted to beg Snape to keep it going. Don’t let him close his mouth. Don’t remove himself and give Harry the chance to gulp empty air. Fill him. 

The kiss, not only filled the empty places of Harry’s soul, but extended to the melting pot beneath his stomach. Snape hoisted him. It was a tricky move that lifted Harry and opened his legs at the same time. Momentum took them from one side of the closet to the other, slamming all of Snape’s weight into Harry. Suddenly, Harry’s back was against the shelving and Snape now stood in front of the ladder. They were no longer keeping score of who was in the most wrong. Their bodies had decided for them. They would be wrong together. A molten undercurrent running between their pelvises, said there were no other options. That thing, that amazing thing that Snape worked free from his pants, that he pushed into the nest of Harry’s crotch, and kept their bodies so close that Harry was not permitted to look full on it, was the answer to all of life’s questions. Harry’s life questions. That exquisite, tubular heat, molded Harry to its will. His head fell back and his mouth lost focus, mid-race, on what Snape was doing to it. His whole body shuddered to connect with that surging head and dissolve into that greater voltage. As if he might lose the contact any second, he gripped his whole body around Snape. His arms and thighs were not giving this up, not without a fight. Now that this man was all but in him, he knew this for what it was. It was everything he’d missed. It was everything his friends had. It was complete acceptance on every level. Unconditional. 

This pleasure didn’t judge. It didn’t laugh at him for thinking this is what family felt like. It didn’t ridicule him for seeing the connection between a father’s chaste embrace and a son’s need for total affection, nothing held back. This kind of pleasure made him religious. He understood how people fell for it. He understood that no one could fight this much allowance. This pleasure, didn’t question anything. Didn’t have an issue with anything. And that’s why people suffered so to have it. He got it. Those weren’t moms and dads and responsible citizens. Those were people who, at some point, got swept up into this and had to go. Smart, independent women turned into baby-making machines for this fucking God. Eternal bachelors, fought against their nature, to put order back into their lives because of what this God could do. It turns everyone into a child who knows it has a right to utter happiness. It’s worthy and it has a right, no matter what the rules say. And for that, one weeps in vindication. 

His body shook around Snape, and he prayed that all that mass sliding against him, would never end. If this wasn’t making love, then there was no such thing. All those things denied him, all the fuss people make, the Weasley’s, girls, stupid stupid feelings. It was real. Somehow, in the center of all this pleasure, love was real. It accepted him. It touched him. Finally, it touched. Him. It didn’t make fun of him for letting the tears spill. No human being could resist going into this light, when they were called, when they were granted access. They had to go. They were programmed that way. It looked stupid, he knew, when you were on the outside of it, but when you were in… You just had to give up what it looked like. You had to give up everything. Pride, family, goals. Love made you drop everything, without knowing what you would come back to. If you came back. 

Harry didn’t want to come back. He rode out Snape’s liquid thrusts for as long as he could. As bottles rattled around them, some crashing to the floor, he relished the strength of this man. This wizard. Snape was not old by any means. In fact, he felt the potency of this thicker, stronger body lifting him. Vitality pinned Harry to the shelf and laid any question of its robustness to rest. The only thing better, would’ve been to feel the grizzly hair of their privates grating together and to have Snape’s belly sticking skin to skin against him. 

Somewhere in his subconscious, Harry’s brain gave the order. Mark him. He’s yours now. It felt important. Once this was over, it wouldn’t feel that way. But while this was happening, it was important. 

It was all he could do to get his hands beneath any layers at all. He never got to the bare skin, and vowed that he would. To compensate, his fingers raked welts and bruises into the back working into him. All the while his clothed body rebelled to be confined so. Burgeoning pressure was too much. He knocked his head against the shelf behind him and begged. 

“Please… ”

He didn’t care what he sounded like. He wasn’t going to have any problem coming and it was going to happen too soon, without him ever knowing what a real man felt like. He withdrew his hands from beneath Snape’s coat and went for his own crotch. 

“Just let me take it out. Just let us touch, before it’s over. That’s all.” He wanted skin to skin. 

Snape wasn’t about to let himself be tricked any further. He was already taking more than he’d meant to. He restrained Harry’s efforts. Harry struggled to free himself, unable to focus clearly through the assault that drove him deeper against the shelves. He looked forward to the bruises he would have, as he felt marked and cherished in turn. He knew what Snape was doing. This was a safer alternative to full penetration, and it was better than nothing. If he had to fall from grace, he would not fall so far as to claim any rights to Harry’s first time. Right now, this was the path of least resistance, and they both rode out the flood that overpowered them. All while Harry’s hands were held down, to keep him from gaining control of the situation and possibly causing even greater damage an already destroyed resolution. 

With fists unable to grab what they wanted, clutching Snape’s shirt instead, Harry was driven from his mind, and all recollection of himself, as he spilled over the edge of consciousness. He tried to hang on. He tried to take the sight of Snape’s climax with him. That would’ve been perfect. Eyes open, body in tune with the quakes and gut-deep pleasure of this Master, that proved to be a vision too powerful, too final in its fulfillment, to keep him coherent. Details tore right out of his grasp. Anger. Like being yelled at in class. That bottom lip and chin fused and poised to retaliate to anyone who steps out of line. A hint of teeth. Eyes determined not to regret, to proceed at all costs. That sweet black hair, curling in wet drifts, loose and shaking around Snape’s face. Sounds, never to be duplicated by the human ear ever again. All that destruction and creation, a demolition chain, releasing charge after charge into Harry, launching him. He tried to take it with him. He asked. He begged for it to last forever. He begged to hold on to this moment. 

He should’ve known his magic would do everything in its power to accommodate his wishes. They both should’ve known. One of them did know, which was why he’d tried to talk Harry out of it. But even he hadn’t been able to resist the call of that magic. Of that light. 

*** 

When Harry couldn’t be roused from his stupor, Snape took responsibility and sent word to the Headmaster and Pomfrey using a wand pulse that communicated between the two instruments. He could’ve apparated with Harry’s body, but instinct, and a wand scan, told him that Harry’s magic was in an upheaval. It wasn’t safe at the moment. So he sighed, combed the young man’s hair back from his head and tidied their clothing with a wave of his wand. Quite deliberately, he opened the door out onto a hallway filled with students changing classes, and put a silencing charm on their hysteria before it started. Harry’s body needed room to lay out fully. Madam Pomfrey would be there shortly, to see to him. While he hated the display, he acknowledged the shock standing on everyone’s faces. Given his past, and Harry’s adoring public, the display was partly insurance against being accused of unsavory activity. Keeping Harry visible to his peers, and remaining steadfast while doing so, sent the message that they should not be alarmed and Harry was not in danger. He knew it would not prevent rumors, but it would deflect from the real intimacy involved. What he’d shared with Harry, was not a deception. It simply wasn’t any of their business.

“Remain calm,” he warned them. “He’s had an episode.” 

Everyone remembered Harry’s fainting spells before and during the war. It wasn’t a stretch. It took a lot of energy being who he was. “The Headmaster and Madame Pomfrey are on their way.”

“What happened?” A Ravenclaw girl asked innocently. Annoying, but innocent. She was younger than Harry’s peer group, but those were there as well. Students closed in, all waiting for him to answer the question. It reminded him of the war all over again, and his back constantly against the wall in deception after deception. But this time, it was personal. Too personal. Harry’s health was their business, he understood that love for him. But this was his problem now. 

He knelt beside Harry. He let his vision soften, so that he could take in the double auras slowly merging into place around him. It was a faint ring of light engulfing Harry’s entire body. He surveyed the gawking students to see if any of them had the gift to see it. When no one let on, he answered as respectfully as he could, “He’ll be fine. Give him room.”

He let their suspicions curdle. He could’ve added that Harry’s health hadn’t been the same since the war, but he decided to let them come to that conclusion for themselves. The evidence lay before them.

In the coming months, they would all know what happened. He would not destroy what little privacy Harry had left by confessing anything. There was nothing to confess. A choice was made, for better or worse, and there was no going back. He had a future and a family to think about now, and he would make sure that everyone else kept a respectful distance. 

~~~~~~~~


	5. Disbelief

Harry’s attention came back to the table, to his plate, and to the sound of Ron and Hermione arguing across from him. 

“Look at him, something’s obviously wrong.”

He wondered if blurting his predicament would shut Hermione up, or give her more fodder to comment and analyze, as if all her worrying was doing anyone any good. Least of all him. He couldn’t stop himself.

“Either fix it, or stop talking about it. Please.”

She looked horrified. “Me? How can I fix it? You won’t even tell us what’s wrong.”

“That’s my point.” He kept his tone civil, but his breath tightened with each word. He could feel Ron’s eyes harden, waiting for him to say something out of line. “I don’t have a solution for you, me, or anyone else. That’s why I haven’t said more than I’m saying. I thought you’d know me well enough to realized that by now. And if that doesn’t satisfy you, then realize that you can’t fix this and sometimes a person just has to go through what they’re going through. So stop torturing yourselves. I’m fine. It looks worse than it really is.”

This should’ve made things better. The words were chosen as carefully as he could, but something in his voice betrayed what he was really feeling. It also raised the volume and people were turning and staring more than usual. His impatience had told them to fuck off, and Hermione reacted to the message behind the words. She shrugged Ron’s hand off her shoulder. She would not be restrained.

“Harry Potter, if you were in our shoes, you’d press the matter until you wrestled the problem to the ground. And you’re underestimating us. Just because you haven’t found a solution, doesn’t mean they’re isn’t one. We’ve always solved problems together. You should at least try us before determining that your friends are inadequate to help you.”

There it was. That ultra feminine hitch in her voice. It was the sound of every mother and potential nurturer on the planet. She was fucking channeling Mother Teresa’s appeal to humanity and her cracking chords wrung his heart like a wet cloth. Such a tiny voice, but backed by strength, like the muscles of a Slovakian laundress, twisting rags like snapping necks. The fact that she could put so much emotion into her meaning, trumped his. It was manipulative and hostile to his need to remain calm. Her raw emotion impacted him like violence. He’d do anything to avoid it. Her feelings bulldozed over his and he hated the way she thought everyone should feel the way she did. Sometimes, he chose not to feel anything at all, in rebellion to all the goddamn emotion making every step such a land mine. Another reason to admire Snape.

“You can’t help me on this. No one can help me.” He was louder than he meant to be. He saw a few of the teachers glance his way.

“That’s exactly the sort of thing people in trouble say. They’re perspective is completely eclipsed. And so is their reasoning. What harm would it do to try us? It isn’t like you to be this reluctant to confide in us.”

“You guys,” Ron interrupted. “Speaking of confiding, maybe this isn’t the place to discuss it. Harry will open up to us when he’s ready.”

This was unacceptable to her. “He’ll be dead before then, or the matter will be ten times worse. If you can let yourself suffer like this, there’s no limit to what you’ll take from Snape.” 

He knew that she would’ve sworn it was love, but Hermione’s response sounded more like, ‘I’ve never lost a case, and I’m not going to now.’ She always had to be right. She always had to snatch someone else’s fight out of their hands. Muggles think it’s compassionate, but the real message is, ‘See, I told you my way is superior to yours. And so is my brain.’  In a way, she was as bad as the Malfoys when it came to lording her intelligence over everyone. Only the Malfoys did it with wealth. Harry could see now that arrogance was arrogance, no matter how well-meaning it butted into the conversation. 

He also wasn’t going to award her any points for badmouthing Snape. She’d said that she forgave everything. They both had, but he could tell by their suspicions that they’d lied. Why would he trust them with this? How could he? They still resented Snape. 

He braced himself. “Don’t be so quick to blame him. I’m going to ask the both of you to stop coming down on him all the time. It’s very difficult to have to listen to.”

“And we might ask you, to stand up for yourself. It’s very difficult to watch you suffer and do nothing about it.”

He took a long breath. This was not going to end well. “I’m sorry this is hurting you so much, but you need to realize that this is beyond personal, or I’d tell you. Do that, or mind your own business.”

She matched his tone. “If the people who loved you minded their own business, the outcome of the war might’ve been very different. There’s something to be said for looking out for you.”

Harry tried to keep his voice down, but found that difficult. “Look out for me all you want. Just stop saying horrible things about someone I respect very much.”

“Respect, my rear! You worship him. You’ve replaced your father with him. His covert actions may have turned out to be noble, but that doesn’t excuse the complete lack of warmth and basic kindness that he denies you. He doesn’t deserve this blind servitude you’re following his every footstep in.”

Oh God. What part of ‘Don’t say bad things about Snape,’ didn’t she get?

“Hermione, I’m begging you. My nerves can’t take it. Be as right as you want, not that you are, but you can have that. All I’m asking, is that you keep it to yourself. Snape means a lot to me. Don’t say another word against him.”

“Now we have to censor ourselves around you? That’s healthy. We know he’s important to you. That’s what hurts. Whatever’s going on in your detentions, is killing you, yet you cling to him like some Stockholm cliche. Everyone saw him lay you out when you were unconscious. Students were saying that it looked quite ceremonious and deliberate, as if he had something to prove. Or hide. He knew what happened to you and he hasn’t said a word. If you can give me one good reason why I should shut-up and accept your suffering over him, then maybe I’d try.”

He looked at her. Her frail prettiness hid the heart of a warrior and he saw through to it. So, just knowing how important Snape was to him, wasn’t enough for her? 

Ron averted his eyes, recognizing the energy rising in Harry. By the time Harry’s anger allowed him to speak, he could not turn his vocal volume down and he didn’t want to. Let every ear know what it meant to fuck with him about Snape. 

“Creatorious.” He kept his face expressionless, waiting for the guffaws. If anyone understood the meaning of that word, a word he’d never heard of until the incident in the closet, they now had more information than anyone else in the room. 

“What?” Hermione and Ron asked in unison. 

“That’s your answer. You’re so smart, look it up. I didn’t make it up. In fact, I’ve only recently learned it.”

“What’s it supposed to mean?” Ron leaned forward, putting his sleeve in his plate of unfinished potatoes.”

Hermione smarted. “It means nothing. It’s a bastardization of Latin. The words, ‘leader’ and ‘creator.’”

“Wrong. The doctors in London are pretty sure that it’s derived from the words ‘creator’ and ‘birth.’ Birth-Father. We don’t see it much in modern society, or muggle society, but it’s real.”

He heard someone’s breath hitch. They all looked down the table to find Luna Lovegood smiling politely and covering her hand with her mouth. She turned pink and looked away. 

“What are you saying?” Hermione rolled her eyes at his need to dramatize definitions.

“I’m answering your question. I’m telling you everything.” His tone climbed higher, making those across the room turn in their seats. “You asked for a reason to shut-up and to accept how I feel about him. That’s it. Because according to Madam Pomfrey and a team of specialists that I’m Ministry-ordered to let examine me over the next ten months… Not nine, ten…” 

He had to catch his breath. “According to my fucking auric scans, and because my life isn’t crazy enough, I’m going to have a child. It’s what’s known as a birth-father. And Snape is the other father. And every word against him, out of your mouth, is a knife twisting in my gut. It isn’t detention that’s making me sick, it’s having to listen to the awful accusations you two are so quick to stone him with. He’s been judged enough. If you don’t give a damn about him, then at least consider me and keep your foul comments to yourself. I’ve no stomach to eat.”

He stood. Their jaws gaped as he rose. Chatter around them, plummeted, leaving Harry’s words ringing in the ears of everyone who heard them. 

The row of faculty made no move to correct the fact that Harry had just destroyed whatever privacy protected him from the proliferation of gossip. It was his choice. Most were not surprised that he would rip secrecy away like a band-aid. He was not one to stay backed into a corner for very long. As Hermione made an attempt to follow him, Ron grabbed her and shook his head. He pulled her back into her seat. He didn’t have her intellect, but his gut told him that Harry was done tolerating her intrusion. And he was going to need her to help him understand what he’d just heard.

At the faculty table, Snape’s statuesque composure melted at the sight of Harry walking quickly from the room. All right, then. He was up. He’d been waiting for this meltdown. It was only when he stood to go after Harry, and was stopped short by Slughorn’s chair attempting to unblock his path, that he realized all eyes had gone from Harry’s hasty departure, to him. Slughorn, overweight and apparently stuck to his chair, couldn’t rise out of his way fast enough. Snape almost didn’t mind. It gave him a pointed moment to look down in vindication at the sweat standing beneath spars hairs of that balding, liver-spotted scalp. It framed the panicked apology that stumbled from Slughorn’s quivering jowls. “Oh, Severus. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” 

Slughorn extended his arms as if that proved his sincerity and this was his last opportunity to set things aright after his comedic, and unkind, treatment of Harry in the faculty lounge. 

“None of us knew. How could we?” 

By the time he sputtered, “You must forgive us,” Snape had steered around the platform, leapt to the hall floor, and strode with his back to Slughorn, down the open space. The rest of the faculty said nothing and watched him go after Harry. This was precisely the time not to intervene, as Dumbledore’s manner indicated. Everyone else followed suit.  

  
***   

Following the closet incident, Harry opened his eyes to the most sterile whiteness he could remember seeing since his after-death at King’s Cross. He knew he wasn’t dead because the bed was too uncomfortable, the sheets scratchy, and the air conditioning too cold. The scent of Pine-Sol told him he was among muggles. It brought his Aunt Petunia’s anorexic frame, bent and mopping, to mind. The uniformed elf who brought him jello-water, hinted that he was among a rare, tolerant faction of society comprised of magic and nonmagic folks working together. It was a small room, designed to host sleeping patients for short periods of time, and thwart bacteria forever. A slender door, flush with the wall, opened onto a compact bathroom. There was only a bed, a wet sink against the wall, and a large frosted pane that framed the shadows of staff looking in, but would not let Harry see out. 

He saw them discussing him. They’d group in gray huddles on the other side of the glass, but his concentration scattered and their presence paled in relevancy, compared to the light entering the window around them. It was really soothing. He couldn’t remember being that relaxed. Ever. It took waking up three times before he realized the spell was on the frosted glass. Instead of drugs or potions, they were using an ambiance charm to keep him calm. It worked. He lay there thinking, all his fight and struggle had finally caught up with him. He wanted to be still. He wanted to rest. Those were things he couldn’t do very well anymore since the war. Not without a good reason for turning his back on the world and blinking out, as if all the danger was gone for good.  
   
He knew it would take something like this, whatever this was, to get him flat on his back. He had a way of breaking bones, getting concussions, and just plane passing out, when he didn’t go to sleep in willing cooperation with his body. That was nothing new. But something was new. Something hurt. Something was wonderful, life-changing, and hurt like hell at the same time. He hoped the ambiance charm would last and give him time to figure it out. Its soft light emitted sublime tones around him. He fell back to sleep. 

Days later, he remembered four vague conversations in that room. Madame Pomfrey was the first to greet him out of his slumber. She stood by his bed, her apron and bonnet out of place in this sleek facility. She was like a transplant from another era, staged to be the one to tell him. Hers was the face he’d come to trust, so they must’ve thought it best to hear the worst of it from her. She was direct, but kind. Still, her words made so little sense that even when she tried to explain the diagnoses, Harry’s brain turned the most logical words into gibberish. He felt tired and her inability to see that he couldn’t understand why she was bringing this absurd news to him, left him put off. Unwilling to tell her to go away directly, he turned his head on his pillow to avoid anymore talk of the impossible.

After her, came the doctor, Dumbledore, and Snape. By then he knew he was somewhat quarantined from the standard patient rooms, and why. He just didn’t believe it. They were protecting their discovery. If he was going to go crazy, they would give him time and space to do it, before releasing him back into society. 

On the other side of that frosted glass, they observed his slow adjustment to the news. He’d been there two days. An extraordinary conception had taken place. So new, so early in its stage, it could only be detected by magic. Pomfrey had tried to explain this. None of the muggle instruments were fine tuned enough to pick up any indicators. His pregnancy didn’t even show up in blood work yet. One of the doctors, who looked only five years older than Harry himself, gushed that it was a miracle, that unusual events allowed them to catch it so early. 

“We can intervene if your body starts to reject your condition in any way. You stand a much better chance of seeing this through.”

Even as he spoke, Harry didn’t believe him. A male creator. Pregnant. Birth-father. Those words made so little sense, he was sure the doctor had the wrong patient. Any attempt to make them understand this, met with false smiles and layer upon layer of tranquilizing spells. 

“We need to keep you still. Unfortunately, sleep is our best chances of doing that.” The doctor looked sympathetic.

“You’re a hero, Harry,” he had stated as he leaned over the bed. Subdued, Harry was unable to argue back. This was one of four doctors who’d introduced themselves that second morning, and informed Harry that they were assigned to him. This Doctor Fielding, wore an MD abbreviation after his name, as well as an MW one, on his tag. It indicated that he practiced medicine in both the muggle field and the wizard one. He held Harry’s chart and smiled down at it like he’d never seen anything like it. Given his youth, he probably hadn’t. 

“We’re going to make sure you’re comfortable and that you understand everything we’re telling you. All of us specialize in some aspect you’re going to need in the coming months. We’re your team. The Minister appointed us. Don’t worry, you’re going to get the best care.” 

He stepped forward to emphasize the most important thing he wanted Harry to know. “We respect what you’re going through, and you will be treated with dignity.”

The doctors had left, as if having rehearsed not saying another word, so that these words would effectively haunt him and stay in his memory because, after all, that was the biggest threat. Not the fact that his health was in danger, or his whole life was changing, but the fact that he was a man and he couldn’t handle any threat to that image of himself. 

It took time to process what they were telling him. It took hearing it from Madame Pomfrey’s visit, and Dumbledore himself. At first he couldn’t figure out why everyone would make up such an absurd diagnoses. He assumed it had something to do with punishment for cornering Snape in the closet. Snape had reported it. That broke his heart. It was private, and no one else could come close to understanding. It felt inhumane to put him through this just to punish him. When this irrationality dawned on him, he had no choice but to think that maybe he wasn’t thinking straight. Nobody would make something like this up. Nobody had time for elaborate jokes, even if he deserved some sort of reprimand. What if they weren’t lying and they weren’t making any mistake? Confronted with that, his mind shut down again.

He had woken sometime during the night, and found Shacklebolt sitting by his bed. He couldn’t be sure if it was day or night, his instincts told him it had to be day. The Minister’s presence painfully confirmed that not only did Snape regret what took place between them, but was determined to retaliate by dragging Harry through legal charges. He couldn’t hold his eyes open long enough to discuss anything with the Minister. He shut them for what seemed like minutes. When he opened them again, Shacklebolt was gone. 

In this manner, people came and went. There were times when he opened his eyes to see Snape standing over him. Grim mouth and uncharacteristically soft eyes. Three of those times might’ve been dreams, but at least one was real. He told Harry, “You’re in shock. Don’t fight it. Let them take care of you.” 

External pressure pushed on his mind and forced him gently back under. Snape’s blurring image followed him into darkness. 

Of all his unobtrusive visitors, slipping in and out, like visions, Dumbledore spoke the clearest. 

“This facility is off the beaten path, Harry. People come here to hide as well as recover. The doctors are sending you two messages. One, you’re a unique wizard and it’s okay for a person of your quality, your magic, to find himself pregnant. They don’t fully understand it, but they think it’s a way for the magic to preserve itself. The other, they want to convince you to have the child. They are offering their services entirely free of charge, to better understand this rare occurrence. Journals cannot tell them enough. And your celebrity only adds to their enthusiasm to make history with you. You must not be insulted by that. This event is so valuable for learning to them, that they would provide their services to anyone in your place. But the fact that you confronted Voldemort, makes them want to honor you with their work.

Formless questions piled on top of each other in his mind. He couldn’t arrange them, so they had no way out. The pressure caused his head to hurt. It was a bit like watching fire spread and being unmotivated to put it out.

“When Kingsley learned of your condition, he did his research. He listened to advisors. He rallied help from the most qualified magical professionals in the world, to see you through the physical and emotional journey ahead of you. He, Snape and I, have all talked. At the mention of danger finding you no matter where you go, I believe his exact words were, ‘Not on my watch.’

He knew that was supposed to make him smile. No one had forgotten his contribution to the defeat of Voldemort, and he was going to be treated like the national treasure he was. It was an embarrassing sentiment, but one that touched him in that moment, nonetheless. Where were his friends? He was falling behind in his classes. He had a life to get back to, and no will to do it. It felt like sinking and he couldn’t rouse the energy to fight it. The sentiment promised that his life was still intact, even if he had to be flat on his back in a hospital. Spending half his life in some infirmary, he was no stranger to the submerged panic of feeling he needed to get back to something very important. The charms helped with that. Eventually Dumbledore left and his mind cleared a little.  He tried to remember everything he’d been told so far, including the parts he didn’t like. 

“Astral Fusion is an outdated term,” that same really young doctor had told him. It was day three, and Harry had taken interest in the note and book sent to him from Professor Trelawney. Dumbledore mentioned having to inform the staff so that they could better accommodate his medical needs. He wasn’t particularly close to Trelawney, but she’d supplied more information than anyone else talking to him. He hadn’t been able to make himself crack open the text, Explorations of Rare Magic. But her note gave him the term Astral Fusion and reduced all this madness to radical energy that gravitated to what he secretly wanted most. She’d posed it as a theory, so he didn’t get pissed right away. The note was a cheat sheet of information. She knew he’d be confused. She knew he’d need an ally. 

The doctor continued, “We don’t call it that anymore. In medical circles, when two people create life from dynamic energy, without the normal egg and sperm, it’s called a Hermatic Conception.  We see it between wizards and mixed wizard-nonmagic couples all the time. But they’re mostly male and female couples and the woman typically carries to term just fine. It’s when there is a pregnant male, that extra precautions have to be taken.”

He wanted to ask, what was the ratio of women to men, but the interest alone felt like he had to fight it. If he didn’t accept it, then it couldn’t happen.

He let the doctor give his lecture. “Matter can take form in a number of ways. You’re familiar with the traditional scenario. But when it comes to magic, the Universe is teaming with potential for life and all it takes is a very strong intent and focus for someone to genetically harness that process.”

Worry betrayed him. “But I wasn’t trying to do anything. I didn’t do this on purpose.”

“I believe you. It’s just that nature isn’t listening to your words. It’s listening to your emotions and your magic. Those are the original languages that lie deeper and truer than anything that can be said with spoken language.”

That left him at a loss. If something can come into being, from will, then maybe it can be gotten rid of just as easily. He was careful not to reveal this thought.

“Forgive me,” Doctor Fielding confided. “I was basically volunteered to have the sex talk with you. This is not an accident, Harry. This only happened because you, or he, must’ve wanted the most tangible result possible, of your connection. I work with couples and I’ve seen this before. All it takes is for one of you to will your joint energy into living tissue that develops a heart, a spine, and becomes a real baby. Once the cells exist, they start to divide in the same intrauterine process that any normal fetus goes through. Only, your body has to quickly compensate for not having a uterus. That’s partly why we’ve kept you under. The chemical changes are said to be painful and nearly unbearable, accounting for most of the miscarriages associated with male pregnancies. We’ve learned to bypass that threat by keeping you out of it. Induced sleep was the lesser of the two concerns.”

Flashes of black spots blinked between him and the doctor. His mind was trying to block out information, but he remained upright and awake to hear Fielding. The doctor’s voice dropped to something less clinical and more human. 

“To touch each other in that moment, was to invite Creation to have its way with your magic. Your DNA has been rewritten, so to speak. Sleeping genes have now been turned on. There is now coding that will amplify rapid tissue growth in your body. You’re basically growing a new organ, not just the baby, but a way to help the baby survive. Your body is striving to create an environment capable of supporting life. There are some very successful cases, but we’ll have to monitor you and leave nothing to chance.”

He’d heard the word ‘baby’ twice now. He swallowed his urge to panic, the way people swallowed vomit to suppress it. That word made him touch something gross and uncomfortable. 

“There is a demand on your cells to restructure your internal organs and literally accommodate the new ones that are growing in a relatively short time. This will drain you, and no one can guarantee your body will be fully able to sustain and deliver a child to the end of term. If there’s a hitch in development, or your body doesn’t form its own expulsion cavity, we can remove the baby easily enough. But getting it to the point where its lungs are fully functioning, is going to be the real concern regarding your health and the baby’s.”

It seemed important to let him know that so much thought had already gone into his survival. They’d had to trick his mind into accepting that going forward was the most natural path he could take. And not just natural, but logical and inevitable, before being legally obliged to present him with the question, “Do you plan on keeping it?” 

For the first time, Harry stared at the doctor, feeling something close to relief. He had a choice? They didn’t have him locked in this room because they intended to try to make him accept it? 

They had used subterfuge to crowd his mind with so much ‘yes,’ he was never left alone with the prospect of ‘no.’  That’s only one thing that didn’t add up. Maybe it was the charms, maybe the shock, but he knew he had every right to not only say no, but to run out of the place for even being considered a candidate for such a fate. They were making him think this was normal when it wasn’t. Hell no, he wasn’t going to have a baby. And where was Snape? Why weren’t they letting him talk to Snape? He’d seen him days ago, standing over his bed, but now that he was awake, he hadn’t seen him since.

Because it wasn’t real, that’s why. Because Kingsley had already visited him a second time and showed him documents ordering his criminal investigation. That had hurt so badly, he’d turned his head, knowing there was no way to escape the ton of depression falling on top of him. More was beginning to come back to him. Confronted with that, he’d ran willingly back into sleep. His last hope had let him down, and now all this treatment was twisting his reality into something it wasn’t. 

Was it possible to be so devastated by Snape’s betrayal, that he’d make up the most impossible medical condition in some fit of hysteria? This was all about Snape’s rejection, wasn’t it? In the back of his mind, he knew he’d pull through, but he also knew that he loved Snape so much, his body and mind would honor the loss with an enduring marathon of pain and depressing grief, before allowing him to move on. He resigned himself to that cell and turned the lock himself. He couldn’t very well ask to see someone who didn’t want to see him. 

Doctor Fielding said it was the hormones. Apparently, when he’d cried into his pillow and refused to acknowledge anyone talking to him, it affected his vital signs so significantly, that they sent Snape into his room. 

~~~


	6. Life or Death

In the throes of feverish resentment, Harry was awake more and more. With being awake, came the urge to move, to feel his muscles flex, and circulate some sort of meaningful activity through his body. He feared the loss of his ability to walk. What was it, four days now? He bent his knees just to make sure he could. When he expressed his frustration, Doctor Fielding responded by amplifying the relaxation charm and injecting him with mobility suppressant. This resulted in rebellion that had him out of his bed and collapsing as he tried to exercise. 

By the time they got him restrained, he lay in a mess of heated tears and swollen eyes. His hair stuck to his skin. It had gotten visibly longer and the doctors warned him it was the side effect of rapid protein production. A chemical flooding, intended to create the building blocks for something that resembled a functioning uterus. Even though he hadn’t agreed to keeping it, they assured him measures had to be put into place in case he did. He had two months to decide. 

Fielding said gently, removing a needle from Harry’s arm. “Give it one more day. I promise you, you’ll be back at school, back in your life. We had to get you through this delicate stage. We’re just waiting for confirmation that the zygote has enough newly formed lining, that it attaches. It appears to reside behind your bladder. We’re hoping it moves up a bit. Until yesterday, it was relatively unprotected, but it’s formed it’s own tissue barrier. Your body is allocating space as we speak. Some of your organs have seen a reduction in function. It’s only until they learn to support an extra person. It’s part of the shock. You’re strong, you’ll recover nicely.”

He’d left and Harry’s face was still wet when he looked up to find Snape standing at the foot of his bed.   Arms folded, judgment standing supremely on his expression, Harry took in the sight of him. Relief flooded him, followed by a smile he couldn’t help, followed by tears he also couldn’t help. He suddenly became embarrassed to be seen all red and heated from a tantrum so bad, he’d been strapped to the bed to protect himself. 

Snape waited, as if knowing full well that Harry knew what was expected of him. 

Harry did. He sobered, knowing Snape wouldn’t subject himself to the emotional outbursts he was beginning to take for granted. He tried to put all his logic into some sort of statement. 

“Lying here like this. I’m not going to be able to walk. It’s cruel.”

See? That was a huge thing to have to worry about, in such a strange place, with every one telling him what his life had to be about now. Snape was either going to yell at him or strike him, judging from that stare. But at least it would be acknowledgment that Harry was in this predicament because of him. 

Snape did neither. When he spoke, Harry collapsed into his voice. “You’re not going to lose your ability to walk. Several times a day, the bed sends electrical pulses to your nervous system. If you dream that you are running, it is because the bed is engaging exactly those receptors that allow you to run, without waking you. Your nervous system is being tricked into exercising. A muggle invention, remarkably. It prevents bedsores as well.”

Somewhere in Snape’s tone, was acceptance. He didn’t seem angry. He didn’t seem like he was so put off that he’d refuse to talk to Harry for days and turn him into the Ministry for good measure, yet that’s exactly what happened. This bitterness curdled Harry’s stomach, but Snape was such a welcoming sight in his room, that he tried to hide the worst of his pain. It came out, though. In the form of one unavoidable question. 

“Why?” Why did you turn me in? Why did you abandon me? Why don’t you want me?

“Harry, I had to act quickly. Once I saw what was taking place, I knew that we could not keep it a secret for very long. There would be an inquiry. As a former Death Eater, if I didn’t tell the Ministry everything, I would lose the opportunity to do my duty to you and this child. It was their idea to bring you here. Once set into motion, I could not intervene. Your health was at stake. Your legacy is greater than you and I put together. My position is already protested by parents. If it became known that I had my way with a student, in any form, my rights as a father would be taken from me. This way, my cooperation is proof of my true role. The Ministry is considering my petition to drop charges and to allow us to resolve this matter for ourselves.” 

“Oh,” was all Harry managed to say. Now was not the time to confess he’d been worried sick that Snape hated him. That all this talk of, of the thing, had driven Snape away. 

“How do you feel?” Snape asked. “Don’t say ‘good’ because it’s obvious that you don’t. But tell me if there’s been any improvement.”

He assessed his body, remembered his tantrum and all the sore places, and said, “I have to get out of here.”

“I will escort you out tomorrow, myself. You will not be expected to your classes for another week, during which time, you will report to my quarters and catch up on your lessons there. Your teachers are all in agreement with seeing you on an individual basis to make up your work. This will require external class hours and will be referred to as detention.”

Harry’s heart got excited. A year’s worth of detention was preferable to thinking Snape wanted nothing to do with him. He almost said, “I’ll take it,” but Snape wasn’t finished. 

“Your extracurricular activities are suspended until your health improves. Neither you or I, are in the clear. The Ministry has no choice but to follow up with disciplinary action. As they review the case, they must now factor in my biological rights as well as your health. Our situation has changed from what it was and you can rest assured that reputations are riding on your well-being. I predict penalties to be minimal, if any. All anyone wants now, is for you to adjust to this situation.”

Harry closed his eyes. His nostrils burned on the release of more tears, more relief. Now he understood why the past few days had felt more like grieving than frustration. He’d interpreted Snape’s absence to mean the worst. His body shuddered to be rid of its burden. 

“You must stop that. They let me come in here on the condition that I would get you to stop crying, not make it worse.”

Something like laughter bubbled in Harry’s stomach. It released what he’d been holding in. 

“I can’t do this. I can’t wrap my head around it.”

When Snape’s expression remained set, he added, “This baby thing. No, no. It’s not real and it’s not going to happen. I’m sorry I put you through this. It seems I can’t do anything without screwing up the order of the Universe.” 

His laughter was meant to trivialize his anxiety. But he could see that joking was the furthest thing from Snape’s mind. Instead of joining him in glossing over the pain, Snape’s manner lost all generosity with patience. His face darkened and his tone demanded Harry make a decision. 

“Don’t think that you will be allowed to wallow in self-pity. You have put forces into motion and now you must face them. I’ve spent seven years distancing myself from your reach, and you have sealed me to your side in one moment, with your brash conceit. How you can know that your magic affects the order of the Universe one moment, and brandish your cavalier attitude towards sexual congress the next, solidifies your place as the most arrogant student I have ever known, rivaled only by your father. I abstained from touching you to the point of choking my urges in self-inflicted castration. I was done being tempted by you. I drank potions to make my body immune to you. I owed you no more. And in one fell swoop you take that victory from me. You reduce me to an old crow losing his mind and his dignity over you, a boy half my age, and all you can say is ‘you’re sorry’?”

Harry stammered before admitting, “Yes. That is all I can say.” Snape’s apparent anger surprised him. He knew he’d be facing some sort of lecture, that he couldn’t get off that easily, but his relief still outweighed the ire staring him down. Snape hadn’t moved from his spot. This sent the strongest message to Harry, who listened to the ammunition that fired over his head. He did his best not to flinch.

“How dare you express the sheerest veneer of remorse at what you’ve done. I have spent over forty years denying the emergence of my seed from the vile machinations of this world, and you have stolen it from me in an irreversible blink of an eye. You have made me a parent. Even if you were to take back your choice now, I would have to spend the rest of my life grieving for something you dangled before my eyes, then took away. You take no thought for the consequences of your actions. You have altered our lives, for good or ill. Your recalcitrance is unacceptable. If you’re going to wield such power, you will not be pardoned from the devastation that it causes. Either you will get a hold of yourself and look at what the situation calls for, with sober interest, or you will denounce your involvement and destroy all evidence that you and I have been joined by a life newly created inside of you.”

What did that mean? Was he saying he wanted the child?

“You are the bearer. It’s your choice. But do not show me an ounce of regret over my investment in you. I would rather you aborted your decision than see the prospect of raising my child cause you pain, because Mr. Potter, we are in this together. As far as I’m concerned, you took something from me and I have no choice but to entrust you with it. I do not ask that you keep it or destroy it. I ask only that you give it the same consideration that gave you the confidence to barge your way into my closet and rip it from my loins.”

Harry wanted to break his restraints and run to cover the words coming out of Snape’s mouth. He knew he’d fucked up. He knew it, but this was too painful to take in all at once. Nobody ever told him this could happen and it wasn’t fair to thrust the entire responsibility into his hands. 

He blurted, “If I’d known this could happen, I wouldn’t have done it.”

Instead of appeasing Snape’s irritation, this only stoked it. He lowered his arms and stepped forward.   
“You are a powerful wizard. I would not align myself with just anyone. In fact, were you of lesser quality, this never could’ve happened. The Universe is not out of order because of you. It is in order because of you. The question is, can you rise to meet the challenge? Do you want to? Is there room in your life for a child? The child of a former Death Eater? I have no patience with anything less than full examination of that answer and crying into your pillow does not count.”

Harry let his head collapse on his pillow. What did Snape want from him? Did he want the kid or not?

“I’ll get rid of it. I didn’t know this could happen.” He closed his eyes, and in that darkness he heard tight, severe words. 

“Where’s your disregard for authority now? Where’s your fierce ability to think for yourself now? I need you to think for yourself, not falter at the first criticism you encounter. You can’t expect me to have nothing to say to this turn of events. It is not in my nature to let anyone, least of all you, get off that easily. This is my child. Want it or be willing to let it go.”

Harry blurted, “I don’t know what you want me to do. You’re telling me to kill it, don’t kill it, but you’re not telling me what you want.”

“I want you to stop being sorry and decide what it is that you truly want.”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“Then let me help you. It isn’t a child yet. Technically, it’s just a few cells with neither heart nor brain. Abort it. There’s a syringe waiting for you in Dr. Fielding’s office as we speak. It will break down those cells into their basic proteins. What you don’t urinate out, your body will absorb. Put this behind you. Walk out here and never speak of it again. You’re free.”

If that was supposed to make Harry feel better, it had the opposite effect. He knew what he felt, instantly. He glared. “That is a shitty way to look at it. A baby may not be ideal, but you don’t have to act like it means so little.”

“And you’re cured. You’re welcome.”

Okay. He got it. The idea of a baby mattered to him. Big deal. They were talking a life here, it always mattered. That didn’t mean he could commit to something of that magnitude. Did Fielding really have a syringe ready? After all that talk preparing him for what to expect?

He answered Harry’s confused squint. “Yes, you’ve been inundated with a positive outlook. Chemical abortion is a precaution. Should you start to convulse, a sign that this is too much for your body, they’ll have to dissolve the cells immediately and neutralize the hormonal surge you are experiencing.”

Harry went slack. His restraints loosened. “This is hard. You’re not going to rush me through it.”

“My function isn’t to rush you, but to help you realize what it is you want. The situation is in front of you, yet you turn your head. I am merely bringing it closer to your eyeballs.”

His use of the word ‘eyeballs’ pulled an involuntary laugh from Harry. “And what do I want?”

“You want so much, not to have ruined my life. Not to have burdened me. You want so much, for me to talk you into having this child. You don’t believe you can do it.”

That truth stung, and Harry swallowed to prevent more useless fucking tears. Already, he felt he was losing himself to this baby, based on hormones alone. He didn’t cry like this. What would he be reduced to in the coming months? A part of him said kill it. Kill it now, before it became something with its own magic and its own will, which might fight him. Magic knew it had a right to live and thrive. He’d fucked around playing, and left that door open. Something came in, and now he felt like his body was mutating to give it room to grow. It was taking over. Already, his free will and basic rights were being denied by restraints. This thing might have a right to life, but damn it, this life was his and he’d already done the work to make it livable. This thing wasn’t committed to life the way he was. Kill it now. 

But then, kill the only living connection he had with Snape? Kill the only thing that represented their survival and the way they thrived in the aftermath of so much pain? Kill something he wasn’t sure he understood? A real baby? Like, puny and thumb-sucking, wrinkled and crying and everything? As horrifying as that was, there was something equally bleak about snuffing it out with one squeeze of a syringe. For some reason, the idea of saving a puppy or a bird, was more compelling than saving this thing. Had she survived, he’d punch someone in the face for telling him to put Hedwig down, but not his own flesh and blood? Why was it so different?”

He cleared the phlegm from his throat and asked, “Are you telling me, that when all of this is said and done, nine months from now, I’ll be holding a real infant?”

“Ten months. And yes. Since you have no uterus, you will spend the first month growing a suitable life support environment for the cells to continue their division.”

He shuddered. “I mean, something that looks exactly the same as all the others? No difference whatsoever? Like no hooves or wings?”

“I have no idea what your magic is going to do, but the infants of my family are all exceedingly beautiful children. It isn’t until we venture into the world that our sour disposition disfigures us.”

This softened the edges of Harry’s pain. He had to smile.

Snape continued. “If there are no defects found and all goes well, yes. Our child will be no different than any other. If developmental challenges arise, we shall deal with that as it comes. Muggle women are given four months to decide on aborting their child legally, due to the unborn’s ability to feel pain. Magical conceptions are advised to come to a decision within the first two months, as magic makes the process more unpredictable.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Do you want this?”

“I want you to be healthy and well adjusted to your life. That’s why only you can make this decision for yourself.”

“Wrong answer.” He gritted his teeth. “Do you want this baby?”

“You’re the one who will bear the brunt of your decision. I am here to support your choice either way.”

“Severus Snape! If you don’t tell me that you want this kid, and you want us to make it work, more than anything, you’re going to lose it. Us. I don’t need your impartial wisdom right now. I need your love. Stop hiding it.”

He closed his eyes. “Tell me you want this. Give me a reason to put myself through this. Without you, I’m just a scared guy who’s in over his head. With you, I’m a wizard and I’ll be fine because I have someone who’s willing to do this with me. I have no business attempting to have a kid.”

“If you knew that a good family awaited it, and wanted it, would you…”

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. That might’ve been an unpopular answer, but it was his answer.

“If I bring a child into this world, I’m responsible for it. Not you. Not adoptive parents. Me. I don’t care what anyone says. Now if I was brain dead and I couldn’t make that choice, then hell yes, give it to someone who will love it. But as long as I’m conscious, nobody’s raising my kid but me. I mean, I’d let you share, if you wanted that, but I couldn’t just give it up.”

“You’d sooner abort it before giving it a chance to have a good home?”

“It’s not a puppy!” He heaved and shot his fiercest look. “If there’s a kid that comes from my body, I would have a connection to it that I couldn’t abandon to this world. I can’t leave something like that unguarded. I’d have to look out for it. No one will love it the way I have to. And if I’m not ready to do that, then hell yes, I’d abort it. At least then I’d know it’s gone back to magic, to the source. To love.” 

He suddenly had more to say. “You think I could live with myself, wondering if it was being mistreated or not? Wondering if it needed protection, if it needed food, and basic love, and not feeling strong enough to be there for it? I was one of those kids nobody wanted. I was placed with a family that should’ve loved me, and didn’t. And those were my relatives! This world has too much pain to roll the dice on a kid finding a good home. I know it happens, but I refuse to gamble with my kid’s life, especially when I have a choice. I’ll be the one loving it, or it won’t happen at all. And if that’s selfish, then yeah, I’m selfish when it comes to something this important, and the rest of the world can just go fuck off.” 

Snape eased closer to the head of the bed. “Did you just hear yourself? You just said that your child was  the most important thing to you in the world. So much so, that you would turn your back on everything, to do what you think is right. Did you hear it?”

Yes, he’d heard it. And what’s more he felt it. The tears burned. Had part of him known what it was doing when it locked them in that closet? He didn’t feel ready for this at all. 

“Harry, that core passion is a parent’s backbone. As long as it’s strong, the way for you and this child is paved. You need not worry that you are strong enough. Your love is more than adequate. You have every right to be a father and to bring forth life. No one’s life is perfect. No upbringing is perfect. But that’s the point. Anyone can be happy when things are going well. Family is about sticking it out when things are not going well. Paradise was never on the cards for you and I, so this child does not ruin that. If anything, it gives us a reason to keep looking forward so that we don’t drown in the past. It’s the best reason I can think of, to plan on living.”

Could he risk a little bit of hope? “You sound like you want it one minute, and the next you don’t.”

“That’s because I don’t want you to make this decision solely on my preferences. I won’t be able to feel what you must endure. Only you will. I can be right by your side, and still there will be times when you’ll feel alone. It’s those times, that your love must be steadfast for the child. Should either one of us stumble and fall behind, the other must be willing to continue. That kind of commitment isn’t born from doing what others want, but from doing what you have to do. I would rather you bring my child into the world knowing full well that this is what you want, than do it because you’re trying to please me. It’ll be safer that way. No matter what happens to me, I’ll know that my child is cherished and receiving the best care possible. And that’s what I want. For you to be certain. And happy in your certainty.”

Pressure receded from Harry’s chest, as if he’d been holding tension there the whole time. Visions of him and Snape walking a dark haired boy to school, assailed him without his consent. Those dreams had been waiting in the wings, hidden, until it was safe to let himself have them. 

“You really do want this? You forgive me for making this happen?”

Finally, Snape closed in on the bed and looked down at him. “One forgives wrong-doings. This is not a wrong deed. I do indeed want this, but my wants would be nothing without yours. If you are going to do something so foolhardy, difficult, and supremely necessary, as raising a child, I need to know that you are doing it for the right reasons. While I will supplement the strength and resources that you will need, I cannot spare you the hardship and trials of giving your life so that another can thrive. 

“I think every mother suffers in silence and every father wishes he could make the journey easier. But he can’t. This is why I cannot stress enough, I know I keep saying it, but you have to be completely centered in your presence of mind, your certainty and power, before you make a decision regarding our child, one way or another.”

Above Harry, Snape’s face tilted and his hair fell forward. His refined features distracted Harry enough from the straps, to remind him why he hadn’t been able to keep his hands off Snape to begin with. Here they were, discussing their child. The next logical step. The kiss in the closet, the kiss of life, as it turned out to be, followed by a harrowing four days of ulcer-inducing uncertainty, and here they were, on the verge of calling themselves family. It isn’t that life works mysteriously. It simply moves too fast for the mind to comprehend. By the time you have any idea what’s happening, the event is already in the past. We can only really stay in the present for seconds at a time. Maybe that’s why it was so powerful. Everything was happening in the present, but to the human brain, which only records the past, it looks like nothing his happening at all. 

Harry focused in the present. He brought his attention to the room, the bed beneath him, the silhouettes on the other side of the glass, and back to Snape’s compromised composure. He felt his breath quiver inside him, and sliced each word into the void of the most current second. 

“Tell me everything’s going to be fine. Tell me you want to be a father. Not to persuade me, but just because it would feel so good to hear. If you can’t do that, then leave. Don’t bind yourself to me, just because I’ve done this to you. That’s the kindest thing you could do.”

Because if he had to go forward without a partner, who was one hundred percent committed, he had to get started severing those bonds and healing from the loss right now. Just as Snape needed him to be sure, he needed Snape to be sure, and not tell him things just to manipulate a certain outcome. If he was going to have to do this alone, he needed to plan for that. It wouldn’t change how he felt about Snape, but it would make his future a very different one than he’d imagined. 

His words brought back tension and shadows to Snape’s softened mouth. He wanted to use his fingers to brush Snape’s hair behind his ear, and thanked his restraints that he couldn’t give into those feelings at the moment. He didn’t feel he could abort now if he wanted to. It wasn’t that his logic had changed. It was that, in defending his feelings, he had felt his love for this thing, for its potential, and now he knew too much. Whether he was ready or not, it was a thing of value, and not to be flushed away simply because he was scared. If he gave it up so easily, he would never be given a child made from his and Snape’s union ever again. He knew that. 

When his hold on the present escaped him, he didn’t know. In the next second, he’d lost track and he felt Snape undoing his restraints. Instead of using his wand, he used his hands. Those thick, graceful fingers brushed Harry’s skin, imparting warmth more soothing than a hundred calming charms. Contact transported him to somewhere safe, somewhere he could trust and finally rest. 

Snape undid his arms first, then the straps at his chest, but left the ones on his lower body in place. He smoothed Harry’s hair, causing him to close his eyes and melt into his pillow. 

Eyes closed, he felt Snape’s shadow come between them. That coolness was replaced by the nearing warmth as Snape’s body lowered closer to him. Those fingers raked his scalp, sending pleasure down to his feet. “Don’t stop.”

That touch did stop and he opened his eyes just as his bed gave way to Snape’s weight. The other, larger and heavier, had dropped to the floor to let the bed support the bulk of his torso. He took Harry’s hands rather ceremoniously and held them. He made sure Harry was looking when he brought them together, to his lips. Harry felt the kiss, like a punch, in his chest. That cavity echoed like sonar, ringing the truth of the moment. His professor did not go around kissing people’s hands. 

“Harry James Potter, it would be my honor to call this child mine and to commit to its well-fare with you. I made no plans to become a parent, but that’s only because I did not feel myself worthy to be one.  Just as you don’t feel yourself to be. I didn’t think I had anything of value to pass on to another life, and that I had no strength to fight the battle of raising my child, my way, against the grain of the world, when I also had another battle to fight. 

“A time of war, is no time to bring innocence into the world. But the inability to escape your affection, has shown me that I am just as worthy as anyone else, and I also have a lifetime of experience that I can gift to any child under my roof. If we wait until times of absolute peace, until everything is perfect, we would wait ourselves into extinction. You make me value myself enough to want this. To assert my lineage and take my place among fathers. I may not be a saint, but what I have to offer, is valid and useful in this world. My offspring has a right to claim happiness along with everyone else. I am not so repulsive that I must deny myself the greatest gift known to mankind. Procreation. Let me raise this child with you. In exchange for such a privilege, I swear to you, unwavering devotion. Yes, I want our child.”

Coming from Snape, such a pledge was an act of fealty, and it made Harry feel utterly royal, utterly singled out by the Universe, and held in the spotlight of an all-seeing gaze. Snape’s steady dark eyes pinned him to the moment. And in that abyss, Harry decided that this was the greatest decleration of love he could ever hear. It was the best marriage vow ever. He chose who his husband would be, now that he saw clearly that that’s what he wanted. 

“Yes, then,” He affirmed, willing Snape to kiss his fingers one more time because the first time was too quick, too exquisite, and too sweet to only get to enjoy once. “I want that too.”

“It’s done. From this moment, you and this child are center-most in my life. You come before everything. Your happiness is my happiness. Your pain is my pain. Your enemies, are my enemies. Never forget that.”

Something chilled Harry with icicle sharpness at this statement. It was filled with love, but dark love, and he had to remind himself who he was dealing with. Romance was not Snape’s thing, but this ex-Death Eater knew how to say, ‘I would kill for you,’ with certainty so profound that one had to take it more seriously than proffered red roses. 

Harry replied, “I love you too.”

  
***  


	7. Custody

Fielding signed his release papers. “The zygote is implanted. Your body created a thin membrane for it and now, for all intents and purposes, you are carrying a fertilized egg. Moderate movement is safe, but your activities have to be restricted, at least until we get past the twelfth week. We’ll reassess from there.”

Before being released, and escorted back to Hogwarts, as Snape promised to do, Harry had to face Dumbledore and the Ministry without the aid of calming charms. He had to show them that he was coherent and capable of functioning in light of his life-changing status. That he could stand trial.

Snape had gone to Dumbledore and confessed before evidence could trace the whole affair back to him. If he hadn’t, he would’ve been arrested when the news did break surface. The previous trials had cleared his name, but not his reputation. Dumbledore still had to respond to angry letters accusing him of having a Death Eater for a teacher. Since Harry required hospitalization, more raised questions got the Ministry involved, until the whole thing turned into a systematic inquiry. As he lay in that hospital bed, he’d been spared most of the details until his release.

He was of age, but the details the Minister pulled from Snape, painted a reluctant picture of a teacher being unable to escape the aggressive advances of a student. What’s more, there were records of Snape’s complaints and warnings to the Headmaster, going back years, to which Dumbledore defended by saying, he did not believe Harry capable of any serious wrong-doing. 

“Those were the gestures of a fifteen and sixteen year old boy. He had a crush. I wasn’t going to throw him out or make him undergo psychological evaluation over that and Severus knows it.”

Snape admitted to giving in to him, admitted to taking the reigns and overstepping his position, but the officials witnessing the statements, saw only an older wizard with limited choices being taunted by someone infinitely younger, desirable, and wrapped in the protection of celebrity status. Harry was everything Snape wasn’t, by physical appeal, and that made them pity Snape a little. They couldn’t hide it. In private court, Harry’s hero status worked against him. Jurors were sympathetic, but Snape gave up his memories willingly, and no one could deny that Harry’s public, boyish charm looked very different when locked inside a closet with Snape. To outsiders, it looked predatory. 

As the trial unfolded, no one lost any love for Harry, but their concern for his emotional health spiked. Anyone that young, that responsible and close to Voldemort’s end, could not be well in the head. It was too much to ask Harry not to have come out of the war unscathed. If this sexual bullying, against a wizard who was old enough to know how to hold his own, was the form his trauma took, then they would work with him. His punishment, in light of conceiving from the assault, was left a blank page for Snape’s right to the custody of his child, to fill in.  

To the perception of the jurors, Snape’s past and recent trial had him just lonely enough to be a victim to Harry’s unequal advantage over seduction. That’s how they saw it and Snape did nothing to correct their assumptions. It was all working out in his favor. Harry wasn’t able to see that until it was over, and he was presented with two choices. Spend the next six months on probation and in the psychiatric confines of a juvenile facility, and have his record deem him a sexual threat for the rest of his life, or relinquish his legal status to the custody and guardianship of Snape for one year. 

Snape waved his concern for, and protection from, sexual advances in writing. He cited that the needs of his child made his decision one of parental authority, and had nothing to do with corralling any wayward relationship with Harry. Harry and the child needed a home and support, not correctional interference. Since he neither feared Harry, nor the responsibilities awaiting him, he was willing to open his home, to keep from seeing his child born in correctional custody. In the capacity of guardian, he would meet out discipline as he saw fit. If Harry survived the ordeal of living with him, his record would show no evidence that he once attacked a teacher in a storage closet and got himself pregnant.

Shacklebolt himself made the statement, “This has been going on for years. I agree that Harry cannot be compared to a common criminal, but his actions are errant and you, Dumbledore, allowed your bias to blind you to the effects. Granted, you knew Harry was destined to be key in the war, but you still should’ve protected your teacher and your student.”

“Minister, there was no way to keep them separated. They had to work out their own problems, as Harry needed Professor Snape’s help as much as Snape, and all of us, came to rely on Harry. I couldn’t prove how their relationship would effect coming events, so I had to handle their discord with as light a touch as possible. I own up to putting Severus at risk, but keep in mind that Severus had made an agreement to act in the capacity of spy and guardian to the school. That position came with great risk, the least being the amorous attentions of a teenage crush. I prioritized my concerns. If Severus holds any of it against me, I offer him my deepest apologies that I could not produce a better outcome for both him and Harry.”

Shacklebolt looked as if Dumbledore had just complicated his life unnecessarily. He weighed the answer. “Years, Dumbledore. A man cannot be expected to exercise such unending restraint against molestation to his person. Not even a great wizard. Were this evidence presented to me on paper, I would issue a stricter sentence. But I’ve seen the memories and I have my own convincing evidence of who these two are. Severus is not pressing charges, but admittance to being the subject of a history of misconduct, leaves me no choice but to charge Harry with a Juvenile Sexual Complaint. 

“This normally comes with six-months counseling and stay in a correctional facility. However, in light of Harry’s new circumstances, Severus Snape offers an alternative measure of rehabilitation. As custody of Harry’s child is now an issue, and a valid concern for him, his appeal to be granted the status of Overseer of Discipline, will be considered. He is asking for the right to take Harry into his home, in the capacity of a parental guardian, for the duration of the pregnancy which resulted from the offending incident. This would spare uprooting Mr. Potter from school and allow Severus to do his duty to the child and to Harry, all while relieving Harry of his adult privileges for the duration of his sentencing. Instead of having to endure the confines of a correctional institution, he would have to endure the confines of the rules laid out by Snape. If completed successfully, the charge will be expunged from his record. If found in violation, his case reverts back to mandatory counseling and monitored living. The charge against him will then remain on his record.”

When no one found a reason to object, Shacklebolt rapt his gavel and announced guardianship to Snape.

Relieved, Harry thought he knew what that meant. It meant those enduring moments that had Snape kissing his hands. It meant loyalty and love. And on the train back to school, because aparating was off limits, he realized something. Snape sat across from him, framed against the backdrop of Ireland’s moving landscape. 

“Wait a minute. You argued for custody. You wrote letters. You made legal arrangements before you even knew that I was going to keep it.”

“I didn’t know that would happen. I only knew what should happen and I acted accordingly.”

He let his stare linger, to assure Harry that he was paying attention, before looking back down at his book.

They were back at school and attempting to adjust to court-ordered sanctions before Harry began to suspect that he and Snape had very different ideas about loyalty and love.

Once settled back at school, Dumbledore had his own words of wisdom on the burner. He waited until he had Harry alone in his office. 

“I ask that you take a couple of weeks at least, to process all that you’ve been told. Just because Severus is awarded custody of you, doesn’t mean you can’t back out. It is considered unethical of me to influence your decision about your condition, but I do not hesitate to remind you that you will be supported by myself and all of Hogwarts, however you choose to go forward. Whether you keep the child or not. I would even do everything in my power to find alternative parents, if you were tempted along those lines.”

Harry stiffened. Not only had that not worked out so well for him, he was pretty sure Snape would have a problem with what he was being told. 

“That help would extend beyond physical resources, beyond friendship, to counseling, and guidance. No one is pressuring you to keep the child, but you are in a place that thrives on children and renewal. We would assist you in childcare, should you require an extension of your scholarship. You may continue your classes and welcome the arrival of this new one as well. Whatever you decide, we want you to finish out your eighth year as happily as you can. You will receive our most steadfast support in this difficult, yet exciting, time in your life.”

The meeting left Harry off-put and suspicious. It sounded so much like Ministry propaganda, that he wondered if Dumbledore’s deliberate sponsorship was really a double message. If life with Snape ever became something he wanted out of, he had other options. He hoped that was all Dumbledore was saying.

~~~~~~~

A/N: I promise, that little cliff hanger with Lucius is coming up! I had to show you what happened in that closet, before proceeding.

* * *

[Unbearable Series](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1031138)

[Cauldron](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20813984/chapters/49474280) (snarry)

[New House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285186/chapters/47577052) (This can be enjoyed as a stand alone, or as chapter 3 of [A Wedding](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19285186/chapters/45866704)) (snarry) 


	8. Loyalty

 

To the die-hard Snarry fans, I lured you here with Snarry, and the story remains Snarry. That's all I can tell you.

**Here’s a recap after all that backstory:**

After moving in with Severus, Harry realizes that his teacher intends to live in the capacity of a parent and guardian, and not the lover that he wants. Mounting restrictions push him to seek comfort, from the chemical influx of his changing body, where he can get it. A chance encounter has him seeking Lucius’ attention in hopes that he will provide the bodily affection that Severus will not.  

*****Present Day*****

Lucius’ instructions had been clear. Don’t show up before eleven. His was one of the nicer bed and breakfast suites, with a separate entrance to allow guests to come and go without disturbing anyone else. This one accommodated muggle vehicles around back and stairs gave access to four sets of rooms along a balcony tier. It struck Harry as little more than a motel, perhaps with better service, but it represented leading edge commerce for a place like Hogsmeade. Apparently, even a Malfoy could not get better accommodations than any average visitor of the place and he found humor in that.

Now he stood outside Lucius Malfoy’s suite, on the cusp of betraying the man he loved, and Dumbledore’s hidden message came back to him. Maybe, he was already in possession of the only beneficial thing that could come from involvement with Snape, who was a master at subterfuge and hidden emotion. Snape didn’t know how to be what the next phase of his life needed, and Harry was trying very hard not to hold that against him. Somehow, he’d mistook Snape’s declaration for a declaration of love. It was, but not romantic love. As intimate as it was, Snape’s version didn’t seem to include physical expression and Harry was past feeling ashamed because that was turning out to be important. 

Again, poised in front of Lucius’ door, he felt Snape press that gentle kiss against his fingers. He’d go back to that hospital bed just to have that again. All he wanted was some fucking comfort. He needed to be touched. Maybe Snape has resigned himself to a life without it, but he couldn’t. He knew this wasn’t what he really wanted, but painful, physical yearning didn’t leave him much choice. He was as disgusted with himself as anyone else might be. That didn’t change the withdrawal symptoms he had to deal with. 

It was a weird kind of pain, not being able to get what he wanted. It lived so deep under his skin, he couldn’t determine where the flesh part of it left off and became emotional torment, like something lodged in the spokes of his vitality, not letting it move. He had to get it unstuck. People dismiss sex because of its predictability, but this was showing him that, when not in place, it was a far more important quality of life than reputed. His body may be going haywire, but it was going to cause him to forgive others when he saw them going through something they couldn’t help. Something everyone professes to be better than. It was like snubbing a drug-user until being hit with a disease that caused you to need drugs. All the people from your past, who agreed with you, not only can’t comfort you, but have no idea what you’re talking about and you’re simply lost to all the doors closing in your face. 

Dammit, this wasn’t his fault! One slip, one night, and maybe it would be enough. He’d fucking confess himself, but he had to see if he could get some relief from another's touch. He had to. 

Again, Snape’s lips pressed warmth into his fingers. No one does that, unless they put the power of their desire behind it. That warmth only served to flood Harry with the knowledge of what Snape was holding back from him. All that body, that massive potential wrapped tightly under his robes, was what was doing this to Harry. If he didn’t know what he could have, would he be out in the dark, seeking it from another person? Why was Snape so unwilling to take the next step?

He stood there so long looking at this question, he missed the lackadaisical invitation to come in, and startled when Lucius opened the door and pulled him in. 

“What the devil is the matter with you? Don’t stand there posing for the Prophet.”

“I, I didn’t here you.” Harry stumbled inside. 

“Yes, well, I suppose you hear me now.” Lucius released him just inside the door and reinforced the locks with a wave of his hand. He turned his back, leaving Harry to gape, and took up where he must’ve left off with his drink. He stood at an island bar, little more than a rolling cart of cognacs and whiskey decanters,  adjacent to a fire. As with most wizard accommodations, the place was larger on the inside than the outside let on. A quick glance, and Harry saw a partition that separated a cooking range from the bed and sitting areas. Judging from the black-out charm hovering over the limited cooking area, the sight of the kitchen had offended Lucius. Servant’s stuff. So he must’ve had it masked in a shadow charm that caused it to dim in comparison to the otherwise quaint surroundings.

Against his better judgment, Harry had to ask, “I thought you weren’t allowed to do magic? That was part of your sentencing.”

He didn’t have to see Lucius’ face to know how perturbed he was by the comment. His squared shoulders and lifted head, advertised the restraint he was using. 

“Not that it’s any concern of yours, but after my wife and I survived a rather gruesome attempt on our lives, it was decided that I could at least defend myself. I can certainly lock a goddamn door without my wand or anyone else’s approval, or is that something you wish to rectify while you’re here begging me to help you cheat on the wizard who risked everything for you?”

Okay. Harry looked down. He’d asked for that. He’d practically given Lucius permission to abuse him. He couldn’t expect this wizard to want to do him any favors.  “I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted to understand. That’s all.” Maybe he had also cast the shadow charm on the kitchen, as well as the locks. 

Lucius cut him a sharp glance as he gulped the last swallow of his drink and began pouring another one. “Let’s be clear. You’re here because you want something from me. Something I have not agreed upon. Contrary to popular belief, the sanctity of my marriage is important to me, and I find it insulting that you would assume otherwise.” 

This again. It made him avert his eyes for distraction. The room was a modern renovation with old-world charm. Bland, beige textiles and cream fabrics supported the impression of cleanliness. Color coordinated curtains and brocade bedding shone in warm lamplight. The fireplace was set with candles just for show, but evidently Lucius needed the illusion of a real fire. Harry knew it was an illusory charm because there was no heat coming from it and it made no crackling sound. Still, it cast enough orange glow onto parkay, laminate floors, that the chairs and tables took on a quaint, ambient warmth, and he could see clear into the bathroom down the all. He wondered briefly what could cause Mr. Malfoy to surrender his standard of eloquence to an overnight stay here. _For you_ , a little voice told him. _There is nothing keeping him here but you._   

Before this little voice could tell him more, Harry cut it off. So Lucius was still upset over his offer? “Then why did you say I could come?”

“Two reasons. To get you off the street, and to see if you were serious about all that begging nonsense.”

Lucius’ tone slipped into something less cynical and more indifferent as he raised his glass. He was wearing the vestiges of a gray-blue dress suit, dwindled down to the missing jacket, open vest and white shirt.  It was surprisingly more muggle in style, causing Harry to look around for one of those sharp robes or expensive cloaks that he was known for. Only a flourish to the tailored skill hinted that the suit was still in keeping with a wizard’s sense of style. Hems were slightly longer and wider everywhere. Stitching became elaborate in places and fastenings were more decorative than any muggle counterpart. 

Hair, peeking out from Lucius’ chest was many shades darker than Harry expected. He recalled Draco from the changing rooms, and wondered briefly if what little hair covering him would one day take on the same quality. Even as he watched, Lucius shrugged out of his vest and slipped it, with one hand, into careful folds over an armchair, while tending to his drink with the other. Another fluid motion, and he pulled a leather tie from his hair, strewing showy strands across his shoulders and back. He took their buoyant fall around him for granted. Only his late-day stubble said that he really had no idea how graceful his hair looked in comparison with the rest of him. It was this mixture of rough and silken appeal that kept Harry staring. 

He couldn’t see Draco developing a physique like that. He must take after the slender men on his mother’s side. When Lucius lifted his glass to drink, his sleeve strained to accommodate his bicep. Draco definitely couldn’t do that, and Mr. Malfoy wasn’t even trying.

Tightness spiked in Harry’s stomach. This wizard was like Snape. He was so much older and so fucking beautiful. Must be a Slytherin thing. Maybe their magic valued this kind of preservation. A Gryffindor might find it easy to age in great health, but a Slytherin got to keep his looks? Did magic work with group consciousness like that?  

Just as he chided himself for being foolish enough to entertain such thoughts, it occurred to him that Lucius was drinking an awful lot. Was he so uncomfortable that he couldn’t get through it without the help? That kind of sloppiness didn’t seem like the wizard he remembered. 

He couldn’t be sure that he hadn’t walked into a trick. There was no real reason for Lucius to sympathize with him and he thought he’d understood why he was allowing this. Because it humiliated him. It humbled him and put him in the wrong. Whatever happened or didn’t happen, Lucius would get to have that satisfaction for the rest of his life. And then there was the fact that he’d always felt the tension between them, and it wasn’t always a dislike of one another. He’d been too young to name it for what it was, and the years he spent hating Lucius certainly blinded him to other potentials. But now that he needed something, and he was finally adult enough to be alone in the same room with this man, he saw it for what it was. Sexual intrigue. Sexual mystery. Not friendship. Not forgiveness. Just a keen interest in what that taller, thicker body had to offer in the way of soothing touch. Here was a completely foreign set of genetics, light but amazingly strong. Fair, but deceptively fierce, and not to be underestimated because of pristine presentation. In a way, Lucius’ ilk was more ruthless than any mythical barbarian. Attila the Hun came to mind. Those hands might be pink and smooth, but they’re strong and they don’t give a damn about anything other than what they want. 

It forced Harry to think about them wrapped around his neck, and would he, as he struggled for air, die more or less from the shock of being gripped by such ferocity? Pretty men were not supposed to be deadly, but he knew this one was. And if he died trying to cheat on Snape, then maybe it was just as well. He certainly wasn’t proud of himself. He’d asked for help. Cried for it, and it had been denied to him, like moral standing was somehow more important than human needs. Screw that rot. It was cruel judgment, nothing more. Fucking critics. Wait till they needed compassion, and it was denied. Wait till they needed understanding, and they stood alone in their pain.

Lucius had yet to ask him to sit down, and he was suddenly too proud to ask. He might be at his lowest point, but he hadn’t lost all dignity. He just needed Lucius to meet him halfway. Fake the warmth if he had to, just offer him a little bit.

Harry stated, “I know that no one’s going to agree with me. I’m in the wrong, as far as everyone else is concerned. But they don’t have to feel what I can’t escape. I’m going crazy. My… this baby has to be feeling it too. Sorry if that’s a turn off. I don’t want to talk about it, but it’s here and I know that all this useless emotion might be hurting it. I’m here to try to end the drama. Even if I have to create a different one. I’ve got to do something, no one else can. No one else will. So for the record, I’m not really cheating because I’m not in love with you. 

“This is just me seeking relief from a symptom. No different than medical help. If I don’t look at it that way, I’m going to fucking kill myself because then it’s just a dead end. And this hurts in a way that I can’t explain, so no one has the right to ask me to suffer like this. It sounds stupid, but when you’re in it, it’s real and something has to be done about it.”

Lucius’ expression softened. His shoulders relaxed. “And that is how decisions are made.” He appeared to speak more to himself than to Harry.  “It has nothing to do with those oh-so sacrosanct Gods, good and bad. It’s pulling your hand out of a fire. That’s all. How dare you refuse to suffer? How dare you seek comfort for your pain? The world will drag you through the streets for it, as you yourself drug me and my family through the streets.”

Harry closed his eyes on the accusation. He knew this was coming. “Yes I did. We both made decisions, we both faced the consequences. Your actions would’ve seen everyone I love, dead. I struck back. I tried to destroy you. We both survived darkness that blotted out the entire light of the world. You have your family and your freedom now. I have Snape and his child, whether I can get used to that or not. How do you want to proceed?”

“Oh, a spark of maturity. Don’t get my hopes up.”

“If you really want to kill me, to make me suffer, then get it over with. But I have to tell you, I’m not here to die. I’ll defend myself and this kid, if it comes to that. I offered my humility, not my life. I was hoping that we could be past all that crap.” 

“Calm down, Mr. Potter. No one is going to attack you tonight.”

“Anyway, we’ve both been given so much more than our losses.” It was true. Now that the war was over, now that the value of life was far greater than it was before, he wanted to run into the arms of his enemy and say, ‘No more fighting.’ No more. Especially when his enemy was a perfectly good wizard  with horrible programming. Horrible software. Excellent machinery. If his beliefs could be altered to do this behind Snape’s back, then Lucius’ beliefs could be altered to be more accepting of things he’d sworn against. He was too beautiful a man to toss out as garbage. He was wrong, but he was valuable.

Harry sighed. “I don’t hate you anymore. I don’t agree with you, but I don’t hate you. I’d say that in front of a million people, if you thought it would help. Who I was then, my choices, that kid did his job. He tried to save as many people as he could, including you and your family. I can’t live up to that any longer. It’s too much, and I’m too human, magic or not. I don’t ask that you try to live up to something you’re not, either. Take all the fear away, and you’re a perfectly good man. When you’re not afraid, you’re not dangerous. Right now, in this room, is where you let me see that side of you that deserves to be understood. Lay aside your defenses for one night.”

Now Lucius rubbed his drink hand and looked down at his arm, confused. “This is the strangest seduction I’ve ever had the misfortune of eliciting. Your head is an elaborate staircase of endless levels and circuitous destinations. I would think that speaking it out, would be relief enough. Tell me again how you think this isn’t cheating on my old colleague.”

“It’s not. Like I said, I’m not really cheating because I’m not in love with you. My love is reserved for Snape.”

He tried not to flinch at Lucius’ laughter. 

“Good God, you’ll tell yourself anything.”

“It’s true. You have a life-bond with your wife, you should know that love is greater than the confines of the body. The body can be corrupted, it can malfunction. Love can’t. What I give to Snape, is greater than what I give to you. If he never understands that, then I’ll deal with the consequences. But I won’t let it be said that I betrayed him on purpose. If someone doesn’t touch me the way I need it, he’s not going to have a kid to live so righteously for. He won’t have anything left of me, anyway.”

Lucius countered, “Call it what you want. Hold your actions up to the light and invent whole new definitions to describe what you feel. On parchment, it’s the same old sin. Funny how, when it affects new people, it gets renovated into something more palatable to the senses. Witches have burned for doing less than what you’re doing now.”

“I’m not cheating. It’s not like we’re married. He won’t even date me. He won’t come out and say we’re a couple.”

“That’s three denials in five minutes. You’re going to have a stroke if you don’t stop swinging at your shadow self. Give up the struggle and admit it. Be willing to be hated. Not cheating, eh? Brought your signed permission slip, did you? Until Severus gives you his blessing, you might as well admit to yourself that you are skulking like a disgraced Death Eater behind his back. Until you do, I’m afraid you’re not in control of yourself and I want nothing to do with a child who does not know how to handle his adult urges. I would not insult my wife by relenting to a lesser substitute in her absence.”

“Your wife should be honored to have me in common with your bed. Enraged, but honored. I could be some nameless whore. Instead, this whore has a very influential name. And I’m not cheating because Snape doesn’t think of me the way I think of him. He loves me. He even wants me. But he has no intention of letting it be physical. He want’s to keep it, I don’t know, innocent I guess. And seeing as how I’m already knocked up, that’s just absurd. He’s too old fashioned.”

“So you admit, he’s too old.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You actually did. I believe the word you’re using to describe his love is ‘platonic.’ Something your generation knows nothing about. That word is not about the lack of sex, but the abundance of affection. It allows you to drink your fill of another without jeopardizing your prior obligations and only people who are weary of scandal can appreciate its benefits. My wife and I share a certain affinity for platonic affairs. We do not allow them to become more, or to divide our marriage. In short, Severus’ mature viewpoint is too old for you.”

“That’s not fair.” 

Before he could finish, Lucius was rolling his eyes in exasperation. His drink hand pointed at Harry. “That phrase is the surest way to admit that you’re so young, your youth is overwhelmed by the fact that something isn’t going your way. Adults do not depend on fairness.”

“Don’t change the subject. He loves me, but he’s not in love with me. He only wants his kid. I’m nothing more than teenage jailbait to him and he’s too scared to touch me. That’s not age, that’s fear.”

“Fear of losing you. The Severus I know, fears nothing. In fact, the only way to hurt him, is to hurt you. He doesn’t respond to pain, otherwise.”

Why would Lucius tell him that?  “Nothing I say can get him to take me seriously. As in a serious relationship. So if he can’t return how I feel, it’s not cheating. It’s all about his kid and making a point of being all parental and crap. That’s not what I need right now.”

“Mr. Potter, you have severely underestimated him. When a wizard puts his child inside of you, you are his and you are off limits. We do not advertise our code of ethics. Your condition speaks for itself. Should anyone pretend ignorant of the matter, I assure you, our magic corrects the offense. Your upbringing has caused you to value muggle sentiment over power. Anyone can say they love you. Only a wizard, who has vowed never to take the spilling of all that he has become, so lightly as to cast his seed like a dog in the streets, can fill your womb with the purest of magic.”

“I don’t have a womb. I’m a man. And we didn’t exactly have sex. At no time did his… fluid, enter me.”

“But his magic did. And without the soup from which we all have our start, your child is formed from the most concentrated aspect of it. You got the strain before it became diluted into recycled genetics. Full potency. And still this demonstration of his feelings, is not enough for you. Between your magic and his self-discipline, you have no idea what you carry.”

“I have a pretty good idea. Now, at least. And if he knew, there’d be no reason for him to turn me away the way he does. If he loves me, he should express it better. He should touch me.”

The way Lucius stared, absorbed, into his drink, gave the illusion that he was distracted. Harry wasn’t fooled. Those glacier cliffs for eyes, turned on him with tracking precision. “I can take you to that bed. I can pull back those immaculate coverings to reveal the black Egyptian satin that I require for all of my overnight stays. I can strip you. I can touch you. I can tell you that I love you, and that you mean the world to me, and grovel in all manner of absurd language, until you’ve handed over every inch of your body, and you’d still leave here with nothing to show for such deceptive words and actions. Perhaps not touching you, is the greatest proof of how much Severus cares for you, that any person could display. Are you willing to risk everything on words and deeds that anyone might use to get you out of those clothes?”

Harry’s mouth had gone dry at the image of Lucius leaning over him on black sheets. He insisted, “Stop twisting everything I say! I love him, and I can’t be expected to just live in celibacy until he’s secure enough to make a move. What I do with anyone, doesn’t change how I feel about him. At this point, it’s just skin. It’s not like I’m giving away my soul or any love that would go to him. I’m just asking for relief. You’re making it more than it is. It’s no different than feeding someone who can’t get food from any where else. If he’s too thick to see that, then he doesn’t love me and he doesn’t know the meaning of it. You can lord it over me as much as you want.”

He expected some abuse, after what Lucius must’ve endured in prison. “Are you going to help me or not?”

Lucius spat the word with a half-smile. “Help? As irresistible as you’re making the offer, I must say, I’m not exactly in the mood to help you. I’m not convinced you’re serious. After all, you did lead the way in your triumph over all things evil. You did prove what an extraordinarily good wizard you are, prevailing through the dark designs of the likes of myself, all Pureblooded sensibilities, and of course, the Dark Lord himself. You headed Dumbledore’s fucking army, for Merlin’s sake. You’re simply too good, Mr. Potter, for me to ever believe that you have what it takes to cheat on my old friend, or indeed, to lift a finger to tarnish your poster-boy reputation for morality and justice. As entertaining as your self-flagellation is, I’m simply not convinced that you have it in you to commit the actual sin.”

He swirled his glass. “Convince me.”

For the first time, Harry became conscious of his appearance, how he must’ve looked. He’d showered, but hadn’t taken much care with choosing his clothes. He’d left with wet hair. Now he decided, fuck it, his clothes were not the topic of conversation. He took off his jacket, then began the anxious journey down the buttons of his shirt. Beneath that, he wore a simple white undershirt, which he pulled over his head without preamble. He let his clothes fall to the floor. He knew he’d made his point when Lucius didn’t look away. No matter what he was lacking in clothes or sophistication, when it came to skin, he knew he had something others valued. They told him with their stare.

Instead of pretending not to care, Lucius let his whole body face Harry. Only his eyebrows revealed that he might’ve been a little surprised at how quickly Harry adopted one mode for another. His appraisal forced Harry to hold himself in check. It aroused adrenaline. Adrenalin that couldn’t move, became anxiety. Harry felt his body tremble with it, and knew that if Lucius detected it, he’d mistake it for fear. He couldn’t let that happen. The fact that this Death Eater was already showing more restraint than Harry had allotted to him, made him feel the threat of impending rejection on the other’s lips. Because of that, Harry tried harder. Lucius was being annoyingly decent and difficult. Harry wanted him to take the bait. Take the matter out of his hands. He’d already offered himself on a plate, what more did Lucius want? If this wizard would just do what they both knew he was capable of, he could be done with it.

He saw where Lucius’ eyes fell, and went for his belt. Under scrutiny, his breaths grew shallow. His body asked for more air, but tense muscles denied it. The conflict caused him to break into a sweat. 

“Ah-ah,” Lucius stopped him. “Slow down. One might think your heart really isn’t in it.”

It wasn’t, Harry wanted to tell him. But he’d already tried to explain that and he wasn’t about to be tricked into pleading to be understood again. To further prove his point, he unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them. When he put his thumbs into the elastic of his shorts, Lucius stopped him for the second time. 

“Don’t.” He might’ve been reprimanding a three year-old, but Harry saw him strain against something very serious. “You are very crass, Mr. Potter. You should know by now that I enjoy refinement. One saves the rawest form of expression for those moments that build up to it. And I must say, we are no where near that threshold, you and I.”

What the fuck? Was he turning all bad wizards, good? If so, that was the worst super power one could possibly have in his predicament. What the hell were bad guys for, if you couldn’t rely on that?

Standing there in his underwear, he confessed, “At some point, I’m going to need you to take over. Meet me the rest of the way. I don’t know what else to do.”

“You want me to take the responsibility from your hands. You want me to back you onto that bed and put you in a position that, in a court of law, you could swear you couldn’t break, and still be telling the truth. No matter what erratic thinking drove you to my door, you want to be able to say that you reached a point where it became impossible to fight me off. Is that what you want?”

Harry hesitated.

“Say it. I can’t give it to you, if you don’t say it. And consequently, if you say it, it becomes impossible to make real. However much you want the outcome to be taken from your hands, and spared all accountability, you’ve still made a chain of decisions that put you as the aggressor here. Is that how you  came to be with a certain wizard’s child? If I won’t touch you, he certainly wouldn’t. I knew there had to be more to this story. You’re a little imp, Harry. Innocence and all. Your choirboy beauty only serves to lure powerful men to their downfall. The Dark Lord could’ve used the likes of you among his ranks. Thank goodness he was rather dim where all of that is concerned. I guess, when you give up your humanity for reptilian values, you overlook the vulnerabilities that would put you on top.”

Harry was nearly in tears. “Why are you doing this?”

“Why do you need to ask? You invited me to. In Azkaban, I slept naked on a wet rock floor, for months. Mildew grew in my lungs. They let me suffer to within an inch of my life, then healed me to repeat the process all over again. When you’re slipping into death, you stop shivering. A gold light warms you. It brings all the love you have ever known back to your side. The people, the events. I forgave you, for being you, each time I earned my deaths in that prison. Each time I found my way out, holding my wife’s hand. And each time, they brought me back to cold gray slate, black isolation, and pain so miserable, that I tried to rip my veins out with my nails and a jagged bit of flint.”

Harry’s eyes dropped to the arm Lucius extended to him. He saw the sleeve pushed up, and lumps of scarred tracks making the dark mark unrecognizable. “After they revived me that time, I attempted to burn it off. That accounts for the worm-like thickness of the scars.”  He pulled it back down.

“Why am I doing this to you?” Lucius asked. “Why are you doing this to me?”

He gave Harry a moment to let it sink in. “You were fourteen, and the Ministry would’ve put me under Azkaban for doing what I wanted to do with you then. Now you’re a man, or so you would have me think, and I could bend you over that table and make you so very sorry to have presented yourself here today. I know spells that would cut whatever ties you have to Severus and have you swear your loyalty to me. Spells that would flush that wizard’s property from your body and replace it with mine. I’m doing this, Mr. Potter, because I have to make it fun for me.”

Desperation pinched at Harry. What did Lucius want him to do?” 

“I’ve always been a wizard of discerning tastes. As generous as your offer is, I need more than nudity to engage me. And correct me if I’m wrong, but you embarrassed yourself making a case for your burning desire, as it were. Your need to be touched. For all your embellishment, your friend there, doesn’t appear to be backing up your story. Pity.” He shook his head. “Not convincing at all.”

Pissed, Harry did the only thing he could think of after a challenge like that. While maintaining eye contact, he reached down and cupped himself. He kneaded his flesh through the thin fabric. He wished he could pretend some semblance of sexual intrigue, but he couldn’t. In fact, this was down right humiliating, and proving Lucius right. Now, his body decides to behave? Now? It wasn’t fair. He knew how to fix it.

“I want this to be your hand,” he said softly, seeing something flicker in Lucius’ eyes. So he had some performance anxiety, so what. He pulled gently. Lucius’ pupils followed every tug with interest, regardless of his words.

“I told you,” Harry said, “I need you to take control. That’s all you have to do.” Don’t make him say he’s never done this before. Don’t make him say it. 

To keep any more rebuttal from coming out of Lucius’ mouth, he made himself move forward. Power dynamics shifted as he did so. Instead of feeling vulnerable in his near nudity, the affront covering the other’s face, made him feel his confidence. Lucius rose to his full height as if threatened. His face darkened, tainting the space between them with something that drifted like smoke. Harry saw his predatory instinct, and fed it by positioning himself as close to that gaze as possible. 

He didn’t yet have the nerve to place Lucius’ hand where he wanted it. That rigid mouth said, ‘Don’t you dare,’ and after that bit about ripping veins out of his arms, Harry didn’t want to test sanity that fragile. No more than he was already doing so. He reached up. 

What was it about taller men? Lucius’ height only made him think of Snape, and how he’d need to use all the same tricks to get what he wanted. He pressed his hand against hair that was finer than Snape’s, softer, but not as thick. The way it reflected light fooled the eyes into thinking there was more of it. Still, it was nice and gave Harry something to hold onto as he lured Lucius’ head down to his. The older wizard went reluctantly. Too slowly, for Harry’s comfort. As their heads bent to accommodate one another, Harry’s open mouth started for Lucius’ closed one. Where breath met, where husky scents and shortness of air, suspended their breathing, Lucius finally parted his lips in that shadow. As inviting as they were, his body forbid Harry to come close enough to taste them. He held Harry an inch out of reach. 

There was only one thing to do. Rather than bulldoze through the moment, Harry began to lower himself. He didn’t know to seduce this wizard. But he knew what a man had no choice but to respond to. Snape hadn’t even permitted him to use his hands, so how could he use anything more? He would gladly have given this to Snape, had he been permitted. Now was his chance to prove he meant business. With nervous hands, he reached for the fasteners on Lucius’ trousers. He tried to hold all that challenged staring down at him as he did so. He would try not to be crass. He would try not to grab and risk repulsing him. But he fully intended to put it in his mouth. If that didn’t show his sincerity, his humility, nothing would. He couldn’t make up for those cold rocks and public humiliation, nor did he want to. But he did want to be of use, in return for comfort.

No sooner than something thick and pressing, was at the tips of his fingers, that Lucius had him by the back of his hair, pulling him so that his body had to follow his head in retreat. The level of pain went from discomfort to burning violence so quickly, he could not mistake the anger he heard as Lucius shot his words like spikes. 

“Not today, Harry Potter.” He tsked. “And I’m the bad guy.”

 He squeezed at Harry’s scalp until he heard the wince he wanted to hear.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m taking over, just as you asked. I am now convinced. Convinced that you are in need of a little discipline, Mr. Potter.” 

Lucius made a point of taking a moment to breathe, as if the exertion of putting himself through this, had been more strenuous than he ever could’ve imagined. He shook his head. “No husband of mine would presume that I would tolerate presenting himself to anyone else. You do a great disservice to the wizard who kept you safe for your entire life.”

Harry pushed at the hand on his head, just now remembering that his wand was somewhere on the floor in the clothes behind him. He didn’t want to strike, but the pain was strong enough to cause him to push away. 

Lucius held on. “You will show him the respect he is due. If he has not deemed it time to break your exquisite body, then you should offer that prize to no one. You are young and Severus is merciful. I’m sure he will forgive you. I, however, am not ready to do so. You are one of the greatest wizards of our time, I will not indulge your sloppy disregard for our ways. What I could not give you in this room, I shall compensate by giving you more than you ever expected. And since you expect so little from me, you will find my generosity surprising.” 

He bent close to Harry’s startled face and said tightly. “Hold on.”

What happened next, wasn’t like aparating. The shock of being somewhere one second, and another the next, was akin to being punched in the chest. Physiologically, the symptoms were similar until one got used to it, but his brain always felt like it was being lied to, and flooded his body with the sensation of falling off of the planet, as if gravity too was a lie. This didn’t feel like that. 

And it didn’t feel like travel by portkey, either. Portkey travel felt like being tossed in a wind that folded his body with the precision of a person folding sheets. Arms and legs bent with the flow of movements and no matter how he landed, his body contorted in a very specific way while transitioning. Not so with this. He became a stream of movement instead of a folded cyclone. Beside him, Lucius remained so serious and so tight lipped, Harry’s alarm would not let him question it. He clearly saw and felt Lucius’ grip on his arm as they entered into velocity that turned the world around them into sweeping bits of light and panoramic movement. He looked down and saw sky at his feet. Then trees, then cities, then green as far as he could make out. It felt like standing still in a wind tunnel, with only the movement of the world around him to tell him that he was relocating at all. 

He felt like an errant child being drug through the halls of preschool. When the storm died around them, he saw that he wasn’t far off the mark. Dungeon walls surrounded them, flickering in torchlight, and they appeared to be in a sealed stairwell, so thick with cobwebs it must’ve been off limits to even the elves. He tried to pull away, but Lucius wasn’t finished. He pulled Harry through the walls and watched him gape at what they’d just done without offering a word of explanation. 

Harry’s shock was off the charts. This was Hogwarts. Not only was a Death Eater, a former Death Eater, inside, but all those defenses he knew to be in place appeared to be no challenge at all for Lucius, who wasn’t supposed to be doing this kind of magic. As if he were immune to the wards. As if… as if he’d deliberately been given access to a secret way in. It went against everything, all security measures, and Harry began to fight in earnest. 

Lucius began to defend himself in earnest. He raised his hand and something extended from between his pointed fingers. Harry recognized his own wand and groaned to realize he was still just as half-naked as he’d left, while Lucius attacked him with a spell that limited his movement and continued to drag him alongside him. While they raced through the walls, making a straight line of meandering corridors, Lucius took the opportunity to dress for the occasion, straightening his clothes with magic and summoning an elegant dark coat from his wardrobe, through the ether, from many miles away. 

He didn’t appear to fear the trace of magic, nor the consequences of entering the castle unlawfully. Even if Harry had not been incapacitated by his miserable state, he would’ve had to stare at Lucius to make sure he was seeing how bold and above reproach the wizard was behaving. Not like a convicted criminal at all. He even seemed proud, and hurried Harry along that much faster. 

When they entered a room of textured wallpaper, ordered book shelving, amid a sparsely set table, he released Harry’s arm. Harry, looking around himself wildly, stepped clear of his reach. His body was his to move as he pleased again. The only thing that stopped him from bolting, was the fact that this was Snape’s dining room and Snape was standing at the entrance of his kitchen, with his back to them. 

Breathing hard, Harry gasped, “What… What is this?” He knew, but he needed it acknowledged out loud. 

“Snape,” he called out. “You let him enter the castle?” He looked from Snape to Lucius. “He’s a convicted Death Eater.”  
“Yes,” Lucius smiled. “And you were about to let me do worse than that.”

Before Harry could find the right words to fit his rage, Snape’s soft command parted the air.  “Silence.”

Harry shivered in his unclothed state. As much from the haste of that unexpected flight, as from being the only one in the room in his underwear. Being faced with Lucius’ superior contempt and Snape’s iron backside, didn’t warm his prospects any. The two had obviously conspired together. Just how many rules and laws were being broken right now, he didn’t know, but his mind went crazy trying to sort which was more important, clothes or the fact that Snape had betrayed him just as much as he’d been about to betray Snape.

Lucius sidled around the table, taking his stance alongside his former friend. “I told you, Severus. You have something to worry about, and his age and celebrity status are not it.” He pointed his chin at Harry. “What do you have to say for yourself, Mr. Potter?”

Abashed, Harry refused to take it. “Me? So this is what you two are up to? You trick me and ask me what I have to say for myself? I say, you can sneer at me all you want. I told Snape exactly what I would do if he couldn’t be there for me. I should’ve known, you reptiles stick together.”

He knew he’d said the wrong thing as soon as it was out of his mouth. Snape turned. Harry half-expected to see disappointment oozing from his pores, but he wore the same expression he’d presented at the hospital. Firm and full attentiveness. Some might’ve called the expression grim patience. To Harry, it was the same one used to kiss his hands one minute, and deliver the gravest of threats to Harry’s enemies the next. He saw love in that complete lack of judgment. That’s what made him look away.

“I want my clothes. I’m not a goddamn criminal.”

Lucius or Snape could’ve waved a wand and transformed any old thing to cover him with. But Snape’s hand moved the length of his cloak so fast, removing it and crossing the room to drape it over Harry’s shoulders, that he had no time to refuse the offer. He bowed his head, relieved to be covered. Now that Snape was present, Lucius let his eyes roam, making a mockery of just how badly Harry had messed up. 

The cloak was very warm from Snape’s body heat. In fact, it was so soothing, he couldn’t be sure that Snape had not foreseen this moment. It was a night garment that he often used over his bedclothes when tending to nocturnal events that roused any of the teachers after hours. One always assumed he was fully dressed, no matter the time of night. That was the illusion he presented and only because Harry lived with him, did he know differently. That little bit of knowledge suddenly weighed as heavily as guilt. It was intimate and it had been entrusted to him. Like the cloak. Like the baby. He choked back his tears. He’d die before he let them see one tear. This wasn’t his fault, he’d tried to tell Snape.

“You’re home now. You’re allowed to go to your room,” was all that Snape said. 

It sounded disgustingly authoritative to Harry, who didn’t budge. “I’m not your child to be sent to his room. And I don’t appreciate whatever little game you two have going on between you.” He forced himself to stand his ground and look deep into the face pitying him. 

“Don’t you dare expect guilt from me. I put my trust in his hands,” he nodded at Lucius, who straightened, “because I couldn’t come to you. He could’ve been worse than what he turned out to be.”

“My point, exactly,” Lucius added. “It’s a good thing your, ah, guardian is looking out for you. Were that my child in your belly, you would not be permitted to set foot outside our home, let alone make clandestine appointments with rivals, however friendly.”

“Fuck you, Lucius!”

“You tried your damnedest, I must say.”

Snape raised his hand. “That’s enough, Lucius. You’ve made your point. He’s home now.” He looked intently at Harry. “That’s all that matters.”

Forgiveness stood prominent in Snape’s tone. Harry didn’t trust it. Snape was too exacting to forgive something like this. Harry had put the baby at risk and knew that could not be forgiven. Not that easily, though he still wasn’t going to admit he’d done anything wrong. Not out loud, anyway. It was bad enough that these two were ganging up on him, humiliating him. But being a victim of their mind games, was more than he could handle at the moment. 

Lucius would not be silenced. “That most certainly is not all that matters. If this matter were in my hands, I would have him under constant guard against his own reckless behavior. This is no way for a renowned wizard of his status to act. Since we owe him our gratitude, we have a duty to save him from himself. But Severus, bed this young man properly. I implore you. Make him yours. Give him no reason to go looking elsewhere. As long as you don’t, he is susceptible to all the unscrupulous travelers passing through the village. I understand your concern with his impressionable youth, but he’s proven that he’s made of stronger metal than all that.”  
   
His glare fixed on Harry. “Just because he blushes like a flower, doesn’t mean he is one. He stood up to the Dark Lord, after all. It seems with him, the decent thing to do, isn’t always the safest thing to do.”

He crossed the room and hissed next to Snape’s ear, “If you don’t bed this boy properly, before he gets himself into real trouble, it is inevitable that someone of lesser quality will. He’ll see to it. Were I as unscrupulous as rumors would have it, your issue would’ve been replaced with my own this very night.”

Outrage choked Harry. “I’m standing right here.”

To his horror, Snape actually appeared to be listening to Lucius. He stood stock still as the other appealed for his attention. 

“Now that we know he can conceive, that is no womb to leave unguarded. Marriage is the first line of defense!” He turned back to Harry. “You may think our methods are cruel, but be grateful that you have Severus to look after you. If you were my gentleman, I would have you legally committed after this, for the duration of your term. For the safety of yourself and my child.” 

He took them both in. “Whatever you two are fighting about, fix it.” 

To Snape, “You have a young man to entertain. If you want to keep him, you’d better stop thinking of him as being available for anyone more worthy and younger than yourself. It doesn’t matter how young he is. He came to you. He has your child. Claim him, or someone will do it for you. According to the Prophet, he now occupies this world with thousands of eligible admirers, and still, he came to you. You’re no longer an impoverished outcast having to earn every scrap that lesser wizards take for granted. You are a masterful wizard. Learn to accept great gifts when they are given to you.”

To Harry, “And you. You may despise me now, but when you look back upon this night, from the vantage point of a wiser and older version of yourself, you will see that my actions were less reptilian, and more protective, than you can admit. Believe me, Mr. Potter, when I say that I hope Severus does the right thing so very thoroughly this night, that you are unable to walk to Hogsmeade or anywhere else for the next two weeks. I only have your best interest at heart.”

Harry flushed violently, taking no pleasure in the reminder of his blunder or Lucius’s solution for it. 

Lucius bowed slightly before stepping under the archway leading to the next room. He looked so convincing that Harry expected him to make his exit through the door. Instead, while glaring at them, he evaporated in a jet of black plume, and disappeared. 

So much for Ministry restrictions. Harry got the impression he’d just witnessed something that not even the Ministry could control. Some aspect of lawless magic, brotherhood secrecy, and old alliances that could not be broken. Snape had made an unbreakable vow to keep Draco from harm, after all. And put him back together, from a pile of mortally wounded blood and bones, on more than one occasion. There must’ve been a reason, stronger than a Slytherin’s code of conduct, as to why Lucius retained access to, not only the castle, but to his magic. Harry wanted to know that reason, but it felt too much like going backwards. He promised himself to find out, if he ever got past all the shit that was raining down around him tonight. 

Now that Lucius wasn’t there to keep him heated and defensive, overwhelming exhaustion crashed over him. Snape had said that he could go to his room, only, the way he stood blocking Harry’s path, made that seem like too much to hope for at the moment.

“So,” he started, “he came to you the minute I left him? You knew I’d sneak back out?”

“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple. You see, I am monitoring you. I know where you are most of the time, and who you are with. I have instruments that let me see you. I don’t mean to violate your privacy, I only mean to look out for you and the baby. My methods alerted me to the moment of your departure, not Lucius, although he did send warning. You’re not a prisoner here, but you do have a curfew. I knew that you’d spoken to him, but I did not involve myself in your conversation.”

“You spy on me?”

“I must. To an extent. I have no way of keeping you safe, otherwise.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He knew that he deserved this distrust, but until tonight he’d given Snape no reason to spy. “So you haven’t trusted me from the start.”

“Talk of trust is a bit pointless tonight.”

“I can’t believe this.” He swayed on his feet. The chair closest to him, looked tempting.  
“You require stringent security. You forget how famous you are and you know what kind of a wizard I am.”

Harry grabbed the back of the chair to steady himself. “Here you are, trying to make me look like an idiot for doing what I did. And you were spying on me before I ever gave you a reason to.”

Snape dropped his gaze. “Did you not, with your own words, threaten to find another if I didn’t give into your demands? I’m not watching you, to keep you from finding happiness. I’m watching to make sure the wrong sort isn’t given access to you or to our child. Someone has to.”

Harry threw back his head. “So Lucius comes running. That’s why he didn’t touch me. Not because he was being all decent, but because he knew you were watching.”

“No, he didn’t know. Lucius came to me because he knew I’d be displeased. We haven’t spoken since the trials. When you met with him today, he sent a message, saying only that he intended to return my merchandise unharmed, at a very late hour. And I can’t always see you. I use a scrying stone. It isn’t like muggle surveillance. I can only see you for seconds at a time. I check to see if you are where you say you’ll be, and with whom you are supposed to be with. If anything looks amiss, I visit. I look around. I leave. When I can’t be there, I send our little bodyguard. He reports back. That is all.”

This didn’t make Harry feel any better. He felt worse.  He pulled out the chair and sat down. “When were you going to tell me that I was being watched like that? I have a right to know.”

“When the right moment presented itself. You’d already threatened me. I didn’t want to give you yet another reason to look elsewhere for comfort.”

“Too late. When you caught me having it off with another man, I’m sure you’d be only too happy to throw it in my face then.”

There was something about Snape’s drawn confidence when he said, “No, I was never worried about that. My biggest concern is that you are, not only too young to be sure of what you want, but are also addled by the chemistry that has you making irrational decisions. The prospect of another man, is now the least of my concerns.”

This pissed Harry off. “That’s what bothers me. You’re not worried about anything. You’re being so annoyingly calm about all of this. Are you going to kill me in my sleep?”

Snape’s head tilted as he considered the possibility. “I have not made plans to do so. I wouldn’t get to see what’s at the end of this rainbow if I chose to handle this situation with that much vindictiveness.” He gestured at Harry’s stomach. “Not even I, am that cruel.”

“What do you call this? Not cruel? I cheat on you with a wizard who used to be your best friend, and all you do is cover my nakedness, and apologize for spying on me? What’s next, hot cocoa?”

“Your choices are dark chocolate and marshmallow.”

“Stop. This is serious. I want you to act like you care. Act like you want me. Yell. Scream. Curse my name, just don’t act like throwing myself at Lucius means nothing at all, because I sent that wizard to prison. Tonight was just about the worst thing I could make myself do, to make you take me seriously. Do something to make sure I’ll never do anything that stupid ever again. No matter how much my body hurts. I would’ve cheated on you. I was that hurt. I still am. I hate you right now, but I hate myself more because I wanted him… I wanted him to do it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

After this outpouring of guilt, it took a moment before either of them thought it safe to speak. Then Snape took the seat next to him. “Harry, I’m the one who’s cheating. I’m not worried about another man taking you up on your offer, because I’ve practically rendered that impossible.”

He had to count to ten in his head before asking. He only made it to five. “What?”

“As I’ve said. I have a child to keep safe. You’re too young to bind yourself to me permanently, and these are not the conditions under which you should do so. People, men, will ask you out, and when the time is right, you will date them. Until then, I’ve procured the only safety measures I know, to prevent harm to the unborn. That’s partly how Lucius managed to travel with you, without unwanted effects. It’s still too dangerous to aparate, but as long as your body is not contorted through quantum distortion, you should be unharmed. I would not risk it without due cause. My point is, no one can have sex with you, because my wards will not allow penetrative intercourse to occur.” 

“What!”

“They are medical and biological measures, intended to brace internal injuries after surgery. You may have noticed some side effects. They are in place to protect the fetus. You could not have slept with Lucius no matter how badly you wanted to. That’s part of the protection that I have around our child. I won’t risk dislodging those delicate cells, nor will I allow you to risk giving any other the opportunity. Had Lucius attempted to take you up on your offer, there would be more than one shriveled pride to contend with tonight. Literally. The spell isn’t permanent. His body would return to its normal condition after a few days, but the experience would cure him of any further temptation.”

Harry reeled in his seat. It hit him like motion sickness and he suddenly realized that he was running a fever. Either that, or Snape’s confession fractured his coping mechanisms worse than he thought possible. He was suddenly up and moving. Snape was still talking, and he’d never ran away from him in mid sentence like that before, but he had to get to his room. His questions could wait. Everything could wait, because if he didn’t get to his bed, he was going to pass out. Somewhere behind him, Snape called. He even followed. But Harry got to his door first. He locked it, because he didn’t know where his wand was at this point, and simply prayed that Snape would stay on the other side of it. He would have all night to decide why that news shook him as badly as it did. 

A part of him should’ve been relieved. It was valid protection. It was knowing that nothing he did, could ever cause the baby harm, or betray Snape. But his brain was way ahead of him, and his feverish, panicked body knew what else it meant. It meant that Snape had a level of control over his body that he himself did not have. And not only that, but he couldn’t do anything about it. If he hurt all night, if he grovelled at Snape’s feet, he would still be left to fend off that demon alone. No one was coming to hold him. No one was climbing into his bed. And no one could understand what that meant except him. 

At least, the evening’s shocks had a way of numbing his urges for now. He hoped the reprieve would last through the night. Not that he was going to get any sleep. If Snape’s bodily wards were real, they left him no choice. He’d have to use his own magic, to get what he needed from Snape. Or go mad trying.

* * *

Thank you all for the kudos and wonderful comments!


	9. 12 Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry rethinks his situation. So does Snape.

Harry was dreaming and knew it. That didn’t make it any easier. It didn’t make things less confusing. He stood facing the wall, where the Room of Requirement should’ve been. If he didn’t know what he wanted, if he had no word for it, then he couldn’t go in there and find it waiting on him. That meant it wasn’t as simple as wanting Snape’s affection, or even something more personal. That meant he was stuck between wanting something and not wanting it at the same time. That night with Lucius, two days ago, had hurt. It did some damage and now he wasn’t sure if the solution lay in Snape’s arms, or if there was any solution at all. He didn’t want to be chained to someone who didn’t want him. Or at least, who couldn’t let themselves have him. That ache was making him sick. So was the fact that Snape could use magic against him, could physically attack and alter his body, without his consent. 

All right, so the internal protection for the fetus wasn’t exactly an attack, but it was taking ownership of his body, whether he liked it or not. Father or no, he had no right to force his magic on Harry. Somehow, the Room of Requirement knew that. It was waiting on him to figure it out. Ask for something. Ask for the ability to use his magic against Snape, to get what he wanted. But if Snape wasn’t giving it willingly, then that wasn’t what he wanted. And that’s why the Room of Requirement did not appear for him. He kept standing there looking at a barricade of stone. Empty dust. 

Maybe he should just go back to the dorms. It shouldn’t be this hard to get through to Snape. Not when they were this close. 

When he opened his eyes to darkness, just before sunrise, he still saw the wall where the room had never appeared. He still wanted inside of it. If he could just get inside, what he wanted had to appear. A Snape who could return what he felt. Even if it turned out to be a fucking boggart, he’d take it as long as it held the illusion. As ridiculous as this thought was, it put a little warmth in his belly. A little pleasure in his climb to full wakefulness. He was still humiliated from the other night. Yes, he’d made an idiot of himself, but Snape had held all the power in the world to stop him, to keep him from going. Instead, he uses magic to control Harry’s body, without Harry knowing it. Yeah, that was a sore spot. Nobody said there would be magic involved without consent. If that was the case, then he couldn’t help wanting to shove back. It never once occurred to him to use any kind of magic against Snape. It felt like a dirty trick, only he knew that it wasn’t. He just needed a way to vent all of this frustration. 

Within seconds, he felt his body stir him in the one direction that was never far away. He felt his blood pool to the center of his groin and rush to fill his penis. Usually, it was a process that happened too quick and too good to want to examine. But it pushed him so insistently out of his shorts, that his fists crumpled his sheets and he had to wonder why, as his body expanded in that liquid injection way. Where was this, when he’d needed it the other night? Even though, a full-blown erection like this would probably have been the worst thing that could’ve happened. He knew that now. Funny how it cost him all of his dignity to know that, as well as he did right then. His state of mind forced him to think about the blood and nerves and all the chemicals in his brain, all that it took to turn this thing into petrified rock between his legs. All of that cellular intelligence and order. If his body was so smart, why couldn’t it simply not do this? There was a time, not so very long ago, when he didn’t need to be touched so badly. He could’ve taken care of it himself, in under a minute, and gone on about his business. But no, something knew that Snape was a part of him now, and only Snape could complete what was needed. 

Like a slave to the master ruling him, Harry lowered his hand beneath the covers. He resented feeling for the elastic of his waistband and sliding his hand in like a naughty child. A real man wouldn’t have to do this. But then, that thought only made him remember that real men also didn’t get pregnant, and he nearly choked on instant revulsion. He squeezed his eyes and had to swallow pure rage. So yeah, a part of him was outraged to be pregnant, and hated it no matter what anyone said about it being acceptable. He couldn’t help it. It didn’t mean that he was angry with the baby. He was, but he knew that was just displaced emotion, because he had so much frustration towards Snape, he didn’t know how to get rid of it all. Sso it overflowed. Like the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. He’d cried like a little girl for the last fucking time. He was a man and he was going to jerk off like a man and be done with it. To hell with Snape. 

_You don’t mean that. You love him._

The tears came hotter and harder as he took himself in hand and pulled. So much for love. It was supposed to fix everything, make everything right. Why should he have to suffer this alone? This was all about Snape, everything he felt about him, all damned up. 

_He’s not like you. Touching, expressing, it doesn’t come easy for him. You have to teach him._

This is his kid. Chemicals were tearing up Harry’s veins to make his kid, and he still wouldn’t help him bear it. He’d go back to the dorms, where it was easier to sleep, and easier to ignore what he couldn’t have. 

_If you could find a way to make him feel this, he’d understand. He’s not a monster._

Harry marveled at his body’s ability to feel pleasure through these thoughts. It was on a program and it would not be stopped. He began to think the worst things he could, just to see if his crazy chemical cocktail could actually let him cry and have an orgasm at the same time. The juices were flowing. The heat was dripping. Everything climbed to firing position as if this were perfectly normal. Only his analytical mind, which wouldn’t shut up, knew the difference. 

_He’s had to make everyone think he’s ruthless all of his life. He had to survive. He doesn’t know what you know about giving in. He’s lived with his defenses up for so long, he doesn’t know how to put them down. He doesn’t remember his mother’s love the way you remember yours. He’s probably never laid on his back, legs splayed, and pumped into his hand, in his life. If he does this, it’s probably such a tight and efficient act that it’s as easily dismissed as a necessary trip to the toilet. He probably puts it in that category. You’re not crazy. You’re not the one who needs help. He does. He’s never had this kind of love before. It’s up to you to show him._

  
Everyone had it wrong. He wasn’t the errant schoolboy. Snape was. For all his credentials and death-defying loyalty, he didn’t know a damn thing about being on the receiving end of affection. And Harry was an expert at it. Children don’t always come to be taught. Sometimes they’re the teachers, if adult pride will allow it. Harry got it. He understood and opened himself wider to the power. His legs pushed against the mattress, opening wider. His torso bore down, angling all his focus into coaxing his orgasm to a head. 

_Give it to him. He used magic to control your body. Use your magic on him. It’s only fair. Make him feel it. Reverse legilimency. Force him to feel it the way he’s forcing you to go without. His magic is inside you, use the connection as it is intended to be used, through any distance._

How many times had Snape invaded his mind during occlumency lessons? The bridge was already there. The structure was already forged from invasive interaction left to disuse. This baby, and all the activation swarming to grow it, might be key to getting through to Snape in no other way. Harry’s body was practically pumping excess magic, that had no suitable outlet, out into the air. Why shouldn’t he collect it and aim it at the one person whose help he needed?

He raced for the finish. As his climax pulled him over the edge, he felt for his magic and pushed everything he had out of him. He found his desire for Snape amid it all, and took him with him. A wizard who had no idea how beautiful he was. A man sealed in his clothes like that, feared touch above all else. Feared the loss of control and the vulnerability. To someone like Snape, the abandon that lifted Harry’s muscles off the bed in spasms, and kept his biceps and thighs trembling to ride out the entire flood, would’ve been seen as weak. But that’s only what it looked like. Harry made sure, when he grabbed him by the hair at his temples, and drove his kiss deep into Snape’s mouth, to give him the power that came with it. 

He only imagined attacking Snape with the same bliss that was overthrowing his body, but he tasted that reserved mouth pulling away from him all the same. His fingers ran slick through that thick hair and he chased the tongue that couldn’t admit to what it wanted. Such a strong mouth. He knew all the details of being pressed up against those robes as far as he could go, because he’d at least won that experience for himself. Now he used them in a different way, to do what he wanted that wizard to do, and to feel what he wanted him to feel. 

He pushed everything he had, from the wave of his body, into Snape’s, that he heard the other gasp, felt his weight, his tension, and the concave impact of energy into energy, as Snape reacted to what he was being given. He held him there. They could’ve been standing in that closet again, or locked between the covers of Snape’s bed. Either way, Harry poured the climb out of his skin, into a wizard far older, far wiser, but who had no experience with running his body this hard and this open, that Harry’s propulsion  pulled them both into a realm where neither had control. 

For Harry, it was a hard ending that almost hurt in its grip on his muscles. He’d clamped down and hung on like something drug on the back of a car. He had to recover. He needed water. As strong as it was, a fusion of relief and falling through an abyss of relaxation followed behind it. Everything pushed out. It was more relief than he’d seen in weeks and his veins practically whistled their cathartic cleanse as he stretched his toes and smiled at the lack of tears. His magic never failed him. 

He had no idea what was going on with Snape, two rooms down, but he knew he’d gotten through. That stone wizard had to be affected. Something had to give. Harry’s magic had changed something. Even if he didn’t know what it was, he felt it. Like a newly invented spell he had no name for. Like the Room of Requirement that was simply waiting on him to put a name to what he wanted, his energy went ahead, without definition, without boundaries, without words. It was a private victory, and he enjoyed thirty more minutes of sleep before inevitable resentment returned. 

****  

Snape, eyes closed, clutched at his mattress with both hands, and pushed all of his weight into it. Springs crunched and collapsed, never to return to their former shape, and somewhere between the climaxes, he knew that he would need a new bed soon. Especially, if he were going to bring Harry to it. One could not put a new husband in an old bed, if one could help it. 

  
He opened his eyes. The sight of his pillow, freed him from Harry’s grip. He lay there, panting and drenched, certain that his will and his body had not been his own just now. He shuddered in the wake of so much activity, submerged in nocturnal haze. It was definitely Harry’s magic. Angry and fed up with having its rights denied. He swallowed, feeling his tonsils chafe in their need for soothing coolness. As soon as he recovered, he would obtain a glass. For now, he lay with the heaviness of the assault, and the sound of his own breathing. 

Harry’s roiling pleasure had felt exquisite. At first. It had mounted into something that rolled him in his sheets like barrel over a waterfall. It took control. The ebb and flow of undulating rapture carried him out of his dreams, which were unremarkable in comparison, and left him knowing Harry’s touch from any other influence. It was too easy to tell himself that it was a dream, so he went with it. It wasn’t until Harry’s shadow self, looking down, twisted their positions and pulled Snape on top of him. From beneath him, Harry demanded everything that he was not getting in the physical world. In the so-called dream, he was not the tender adolescent everyone had come to know, but an equal wizard who knew he’d been getting the short end of the stick, and was not about to apologize for taking what was owed to him. 

It wasn’t violent, just unapologetic. Harry’s magic was lashing out. He knew it would, and he feared the form that it would take. If it had just been aggression or spite, he knew how to handle those. But no, Harry’s desire had a score to settle. It had been harnessed like a stallion, and forced to replicate reproduction. All that power, in a wizard who was feeling pretty helpless, had to go somewhere. Snape was not tending to the magic. He was not stroking it and coaxing it to stay calm and to flow along certain paths that would nurture both Harry and the child. So it raged and swelled around the boundaries of both their realities. It was white water rapids, climbing boulders in its path. The child inside of Harry was growing, drawing more and more on both their magic. He’d been a fool to think that he could invade Harry’s body with a spell and not have that boy’s innate intelligence find him through the trace? 

He lay there, on his stomach, feeling the evidence that Harry had already extracted one climax from his body, and it wanted another. He trapped his erection between his stomach and the mattress, poised between spilling a second time, and remaining still to keep that from happening. He’d felt that he’d been deep in Harry’s body, lost to a dopamine immersion that circulated like nitroglycerin through his veins. Harry’s mouth had tasted like permission to do anything he wanted, off the record. It tasted, scent and texture, like every unfulfilled desire he’d had the pragmatism to ignore, suddenly granted in full. He could not fail, he could not lose. Nothing could go wrong in this velvet darkness, and there were no innocent kids to protect, to keep him from blocking out all responsibility and losing himself in the swell of their molten union. 

He pushed against the mattress. His moan rumbled like the bowels of the earth, and pushed up through his gut, out into the still shadows of his room. He didn’t have to pretend that he was in the grip of Harry’s hidden, satin enclosure. His mind was still feeding him imagery and sensation from a soup of melatonin psychedelics, and he bit down on Harry’s skin until he tasted salty sweat.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, his dignity disapproved. Even behind closed doors, he was not to lose the fight on decorum. Harry needed him to be the strong one. Their child needed him to be above the tremors shaking to get out of his body. He bit his lip on the war inside of him, and growled into his pillow. His hips dug a trench into his bed, and something in his throat hissed exactly the way water hisses from low pressure to high, on its way out. Harry had woken up something, tore the doors off of something, that was not going back to sleep. He didn’t pump it, it pumped him, into the mattress. It told him that this was Harry’s body and to do what he wanted. Better this, than the real thing. He’d hurt Harry. He’d hurt the baby, if he tried to do this in person. So he gripped his sheets and held on. 

It was taking him. It was going to have him. Refusing to use his hands, to abuse himself like a sloppy schoolboy, any further, he rode the bed in earnest. At the height of his thrusts, he didn’t care if Harry felt them or not. As long as he couldn’t hurt him, or the life growing inside, he tore lose from his reserve and drove himself like a railroad spike, into the worst of his heat. He threw off his teacher’s mantle and put his back into his grind. He fucked. He fucked the springs beneath him like this was his one chance to prove to Harry that he wanted him. In this wordless communication, filled with raw expression, here was the safest opportunity to vent his own frustration. Years in the making, his restraint has been inhuman. He didn’t dare encourage Harry, yet he didn’t do enough to stop him. 

He thrust, for those nights he’d swallowed the bitterest pain at denying himself. He thrust, for those red, chapped lips in the snow, in the cold rain, that looked so much like Lily’s. He thrust, for the unspeakable irony that this was James Potter’s progeny, a boy who’d bested his father in character, and came full circle where James had failed, to appreciate Snape and vehemently pursue friendship. Not just friendship, but the ultimate. He’s impregnated James’s son, for god’s sake. James’s son.

I’m fucking your son, you son-of-a-bitch. That beautiful boy that you don’t deserve. I don’t deserve him, either. But for whatever reason, he wants me. Me. If you had shown me a shred of decency, perhaps Harry would not have been attracted to the damage you left behind. To the charge already in the air. Now, your grandchild is my child, and our hatred of one another has cursed us both to become family. You ass! 

He abused his mattress until his final thrusts depleted all his anger at James, all his guilt over Lily, and all his shame concerning Harry. That boy was simply too great, too delicious to deny himself the sweetness of life any longer. His climax hurled him, and continued careening through levels of himself he hadn’t accessed in years. Bliss, instead of rising up like a fountain, crashed down through false, bottomless platforms. Through boarded up holes and split planks with rusty nails. Dust and splintered bits of memory, exploded as he dropped from one black space to the next. He crashed through himself, oblivious to his own cries. They were mixed with the helplessness of sex and the effusion of feeling himself stream onto his sheets. 

Somewhere during it all, his dark room had become gray, as his mind adjusted to wakefulness. There were no windows in the dungeon, it was just his biological alarm clock at work. He was late. Late getting up, which meant he’d be late getting Harry’s breakfast, and late for class. For the first time in twenty years, he would be late for class. It did not happen. 

Gods, he was going to have to marry Harry Potter, and soon. He shut his eyes on the thought. He heard James laugh. _You’re going to do right by my son, you bastard. We’re family now. I’ll be with you forever. When that baby cries, it’ll be me screaming at you, and you’ll have to love me. You’ll have to forgive me. Harry will make you._

Marriage was going to be a problem. There was a certain detail in the contract, in his bloodline, that Harry wasn’t going to like. It was just a ritual, but it had been put there by sorcerers who coveted magic and vowed to keep it active in case reincarnation back into the gene pool wasn’t just a myth. They were heathens, pagans, and superstitious people with a lot of belief in their magic. Their ceremonies were more honest than muggle ceremonies. Where muggles dressed in wedding-white, the wizards and witches of old, stripped under the light of the moon and gave up every secret, to prove their loyalty to one another. Blood and semen were the order of the day, things that produced children and magic, not diamonds and bouquets. It wouldn’t be a marriage until he used the rings in his mother’s vault. And if he used those rings, Harry would be bound to him for life. 

That wasn’t a marriage, that was a sentence, and Harry was too young to know what it meant to commit to something like that. He had been prepared to walk through innocuous muggle vows, if the day ever came that Harry was ready for it. Harry could always divorce himself from that, should he ever regret it. But those rings didn’t believe in backing out. Already, they called to him from their hidden spot among dust-ridden, and tarnished heirlooms. Somewhere on a shelf, behind the cremation urn of his great grandfather’s ashes, a pearl box with green velvet lining, began to glow. Two rings waited inside. They were crafted from black obsidian, inlaid with pearl runes around each band, and lined in gold. Handmade skill, that no longer walked the earth, made them as smooth as polished stone. When activated, they could not be removed till death, though magic could conceal them. 

Several pairs had been contracted into the Prince family, so that there was always a set waiting for the next generation. His mother may have been disinherited, but that didn’t change his blood. If there was a new husband to bring into the fold, one with compatible magic, then he was not getting out of his responsibility. 

 _Severus Snape, those rings feel cheated. You’ve put a child in that boy, without telling them your intentions. The ancestors are speaking their minds, as much through Harry’s discontent, as through the child itself. If you don’t marry him, your child’s blood will drive him mad. He’s already walked willingly into his enemy’s hands. Get the rings. Protect him. Marry him. The ceremony has started. Finish it._  

“But he’ll never be able to leave,” he whispered in the dim. “Not even if he wanted to. It would be a curse, not a marriage, and it killed my mother. The only escape is death, and I’m not even sure that’s true.”

The idea of Eileen Prince, still bound to the man she couldn’t please, filled him with unresolved anger. She’d suffered enough. 

_Then make him happy. Put his happiness first. Give him what he wants._

“He’s too young to know what he wants!”

_His magic is ancient, and it knows what he wants. Age is a fashion. An infant is born with all of the emotional intelligence it will ever have, even if it has not learned to manage it. In your mother’s time, he would’ve been too old. Do not wait for the judges of the world to give you permission to be happy. To be wealthy in union, and in all other ways. You’ve avoided this throne for far too long. How long have you waited? How long have you denied yourself? You have sacrificed an entire life to the happiness of others. No more. Claim your husband. Make love to him. Harry makes you admit the sovereignty in your soul. He makes you admit that you are great._

“I would be a monster to him. I can’t give him what he wants. He’ll want to leave, and can’t.”

_Then give him no reason to leave. You’ve already set boundaries around him. Put him in a cell. With your child, he’ll never be free of you. Make it so that he never wants to be. Now that he’s stranded on an island, devote your company to him. If he turns to you in anger, take it. If he turns to you in love, take it. Be his, and he yours, whatever  the storms of your lives bring. If he curses you and those rings, till the day he dies, withstand it with honor. He’s worth it. There is nothing else that you would ask of this life, than to love someone who is worth all the trials. All the unshed tears. He’s worth it._

“And what of the day when he looks at me and sees how I’ve tricked him? I’ll not have a husband who hates me.”

_Then give him no reason to. Harry does not hate without reason. He believes in your love. Believe in his. You have sold your soul for less. Let him give it back to you._


	10. Breakfast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast goes better than Harry thinks.

Harry tried to sit still. Snape was going to make them both late for class, but insisted on forging ahead with a fresh liver drink so that Harry could get the iron he needed. The smell, as it cooked with onions, wasn’t as bad as it used to be. He wanted to suggest that he’d be willing to try it chopped in scrambled eggs instead of converted to that kale and broth infused sludge that he usually drank. But now was not the time for that discussion. Snape moved around in the kitchen, bustling from the stove to the table, with such a flourish, that Harry dared not interrupt his efficiency. He didn’t have to use occlumency to know that Snape was pissed at being late, and too rigid in his thinking, to allow Harry to skip breakfast. 

It was two days since the Lucius incident and neither had braved the subject. Harry, mostly by avoiding Snape all together. But he couldn’t escape breakfast, which made the next words out of his mouth all the more futile. Yet, he had to say it. 

“I want to move back into the dorms.”

Clanging sounds came from the kitchen, as if a spatula had bounced from the skillet to the floor. He closed his eyes. The next sound he heard, was the sizzle of a thin slice of liver being lifted past his ear, onto a plate of cheesy, scrambled eggs. 

Guilt stabbed through his delighted shock. Snape knew he wanted eggs?

Beside his plate, a small glass of orange juice won out over tea and pumpkin juice. Snape said nothing and took the skillet back into the kitchen. When he didn’t return right away, Harry could feel uneasiness delaying him. Maybe neither of them would go to class today. Wouldn’t that be something, being the reason Snape missed class? After Lucius, that guilt trip felt almost uplifting. He enjoyed a kind of emotional rebellion, until Snape walked slowly through the doors and took his seat at the table. 

Instead of looking at Harry, he kept his eyes on his own identical plate and tucked in with his usual reserve. Hair fell into his eyes. Harry’s soul lifted a shadowy version of his hand and tucked it back behind Snape’s ear. It made him smile. Even with bad news, even with betrayal lingering at this table, and all the unpleasant things that were going to be said, he wasn’t angry right now. They were about to have a very difficult discussion, and he felt his love for Snape give him courage. He’d been wrestling with his actions, with self-inflicted humiliation, for two days. That morning, giving himself permission to invade Snape’s privacy with his magic, as Snape had invaded his, had somehow reset the board. It cleared his mind. He knew what he had to do to keep from causing this wizard any more pain. If one last, horrible conversation, was what they had to have in order to end this, then that was okay. He’d show Sev how mature he could be. 

“Did you hear me? I want to --”

“I heard you.” Snape chewed. His tone and manner conveyed that, not only could he not taste the food, he ate it by rote memory. All resources were allocated to responding to Harry’s statement. 

“I’ve thought about it. I’d still be in your care, but that way, I couldn’t cause all this drama. I moved in here to be with you. I’m no closer to you than I would be in a dorm. Well, I am, but only in a way that makes it worse, not better. This way, if I go back, I can’t make demands on you. And I don’t think I’d feel the things I feel, with all that distance between us. It’d be easier on us both. And we have to admit, this isn’t working. I reached my lowest point when I went to Lucius. I went crazy. That’s not who I am, I was hurting and desperate.”

“Don’t speak of it.” Snape still didn’t look at him.

“Maybe, if I’m away from you, my head will go back to normal. I can love you, and let you have your space. I just thought we were a couple. I thought I finally had you to myself. My disappointment shouldn’t hurt anyone but me. Now, I’ll learn to let you see it differently. It doesn’t change how I feel about you, but I can’t live this close to you without touching you. So, I’ll go back to the way it was. I’ll try to, for everyone’s sake.”

Snape’s fork lifted, but stopped midway. He put it down. “I’m afraid I can’t allow you to give up on our arrangement that easily. You’re about to have a child, you can’t run the minute you’re not having fun.”

As right as he was, this chaffed Harry. “This is more serious than fun. I’m talking survival. Sanity. And you can’t go around using magic that invades my privacy, yet you did. You made decisions about my body that even I don’t get to make. I get it. You don’t want me, you want this kid. That’s fine. But don’t ask me to torture myself in the process. Let me go.”

“You’ve only been here two months.”

“You can’t feel the strain like I can, you said so yourself. I’m twelve weeks along, and believe me, two months is enough time to see where this is going.”

Snape caught him off guard by sighing, sitting back from his plate, and staring at him. He didn’t look angry, or even irritated. He looked, for once, as though he didn’t have any answers. But Harry knew that he’d make them up on the spot. 

“The dormitory is not the best place for you. Your friends will not know how to steer you out of trouble or even talk to you about what your body is going through. I have already thwarted one catastrophe, I shall continue to watch over you and thwart any more.”

“I’m not a child.”

“But you do need looking after. You admit to making decisions that are less than rational. Moving out is another one. I know that you are an adult, Harry, but you’re here as a disciplinary measure, for a reason. Accept my authority on the matter and make do. Stay focused, and everything will be fine. It’s as simple as keeping yourself busy with the same work that you would be doing, were you in your dorm.”

Harry threw down his fork. “Nothing is that simple!”

Snape’s frown deepened upon being yelled at. 

“I refuse to explain to you what I’m going through. I’m already blue in the face from trying to tell you. It’s not working. I’m losing the will to fucking live in that room. At least my friends want to be around me, whether they understand or not. At least they want me to laugh and feel good. I was ready to give all of that up for you. I still am, but you’ve got to give me something in return. Something to make it worth it. And if you can’t, then I forgive you. But you have to let me leave. We tried it. It sucks. Dumbledore was right.”

“About what?” An eyebrow lifted.

“About you. About us. Your way of thinking, your way of life, has no room for me. You can’t accommodate affection, I have no idea how you’re going to accommodate this baby. You do realize they need love, don’t you? I get that you’re not comfortable expressing things like that, but it’s what some of us thrive on. I thought I could get used to it. As long as you treated me well behind closed doors, you can be as unfeeling in public as you want. But you’re so cold, you’ve frozen over.”

Snape’s mouth fell open. Harry pretended his words were harmless, that stricken expression was nothing, and moved on. 

“I’m not even angry with you anymore for it. It’s who you’ve become, and I can back down. I can lavish this kid with all the affection that you’re going to be too proper to let show. I love you and I’m willing to let you push me away. How’s that for maturity? How’s that for learning my lesson? You still get to have your kid, just let me get out of here.”

Snape was breathing heavily, as if he’d been the one spewing these hurtful words. 

“You are under the impression that I am incapable of displays of affection, and that I am accepting of our child, but not of you. You are wrong on both accounts. I may not be as adept at using the most saccharine words to secure other people’s fondness, but I have fought for you, kept you from juvenile imprisonment, opened my home to you, cooked for you, appealed to you, and stopped you from self-destruction. If these are inadequate displays of affection, then I suggest an optometrist to see to your eyes, because my every labored breath is a long-winded, measured, testament to my love for you.

“Do you think I’m still teaching here, for my health? I came back because you begged me to. I build monuments to you with every sentence, every act, every deed. And my greatest tribute escapes you entirely. Apparently, I’m so good at seeing that you want for nothing, you’re blind to the fact that your body remains as safe and untouched as the day we met. I’ve managed to put a child inside of you without compromising your trust in me, without breaking any laws, moral or otherwise, or raising one bruise on your perfect envelope. The problem isn’t that I ‘suck,’ to borrow your grotesque assessment, when it comes to showing how I feel. The problem is your ability to see it.”

Snape’s eyes were glassy and his mouth tight. “I am sorry that you don’t like my home, but it will not be said that this old man finally had his way with you, or that he ever took advantage of a student. I will not degrade my love for you by climbing into your bed. You and I must be on equal footing for that to happen, and you’re too troubled, too much of a student, and too ready to give up, like the pup that you are, for me to feel anything less than monstrous perversion at the thought of doing what you want. You think that I only want this child and not you. You’re wrong. I want you both.

“Being who you are, you have already damned me to the filthiest, cruelest gossip regarding your condition. Being who I am, a wizard with a dark past, I must prove that you are safe in my care. The world thinks that I have done irreversible harm to you, in your post-war struggle to live with peace and to learn not to look for things to kill. You are damaged, Harry Potter, and so am I. The day will come when the opposition will accuse me of raping you, and I will be able to prove that I never touched you, never so thoroughly as to ruin your innocence. Not until you were grown, living your own life away from this school, and secure in the man you’ve become. I so want to be able to say that. I am not a monster, don’t hate me because I won’t act like one.”

Harry’s mind was doing somersaults. His food forgotten, he swallowed on words that he could not arrange into coherent language at that moment. “You’re not a monster. No one ever said that.”

“Plenty of people have thought it. I will not prove them right. Your body is sacred to me. I have not torn that seal because I value the perfection that it represents. Do you know how rare a virgin, adult male is? So rare, that he must keep that secret to himself or risk ostracism from every race and culture on the planet. The practice of idealizing female virgins and shaming male ones, originated from religious laws seeking to convince the masses to fit molds. To be happy to give up their power. Magic collects in reproductive tissue. It stamps the DNA. 

“A wizard who does not spill his seed so readily, is more powerful than one who spills it continuously. Not better, simply in possession of a greater concentration. A greater density. Lovers are overrated. I’ve had them, they are fallible. I consider myself to be a fine wine of sexual experience, but you… You only want others to be happy and you were too busy fighting dark lords when all of your friends were falling in love. You are distilled from the most uncommon magic. You are not to be served to the children, alongside their pumpkin juice, nor to adults with tongues as numb as their appreciation for wine. You are to be presented in ceremony, in ritual, and given to only those who know your value, and can taste your sweetness.”

“Oh my god.” Harry had to shake his head to clear it. That had to be the sappiest, most saccharine thing he’d ever heard. Either Snape’s idea of sweet talk was like taking an uzi missile launcher on a rabbit hunt, or he really believed all the stuff he was saying. Who the hell could live up to that? 

Harry held up his hands, stopping him before he could continue. “As beautiful a sentiment as that is, and I can’t stress this enough, I’m not a fucking glass of wine. I’m human and I need to be touched, drunken, in the worst way. I’m tired of people thinking I’m perfect, so I have to act perfect. Don’t put me on that pedestal. It’s lonely and cold up there. People have sex. It’s what they do. You’re not better than anyone, than all the gossip, just because you’re not having sex. Take me to your bed and fuck my brains out, to hell with what anyone thinks. Get sloshed on me. We both deserve it. At least you know what it’s like to share that with someone. I don’t. You can’t ask me to live in some sphere of perfection, or bottle for that matter, while everyone else gets to discover experience.”

Snape leaned forward. “What’s two more years? You’ll have the child and you’ll be living on your own. That will put an end to the idea that you are a victim and shut up everyone. People will feel ashamed that they spoke so judgementally of a very brave young father. Then, if you still want me, in more than the capacity of father to your child, you shall have me.”

Harry processed what Snape couldn’t hear. _I won’t have sexual intercourse with you for two years. That’s how long I’m asking you to wait. That’s how scared I’ve become of what people think. I will play the villain no more._  

“Let me leave.”

“No.” 

“Quit clinging to your old fashioned notions, you’re torturing me. I’m not innocent. I killed Voldemort. I jack off every chance I get. I have no more innocence, in spirit or in flesh.”

“You have more than you think, or you wouldn’t be in the condition you’re in. You would’ve known better.” 

Harry rolled his eyes. Snape wasn’t going to let him leave. He might as well hit back. Not knowing what else to say, he blurted, “You owe me a date.”

“That was under the condition that you would make yourself amenable to your curfew and my instructions. Since you have not done so, I think that reward is still forthcoming.”

“I’m not a pet. I don’t respond well to reward systems.”

“I’m well aware of that. I simply can’t give you a prize that you have done everything in your power to keep from earning.”

“You should let me go back to my friends. You have no idea how cooperative and amenable I’m trying to be. If you love me, let me go.”

“I can’t.”

“You talk of earning. Earning! You just proved my point. Love shouldn’t have to be earned. I didn’t come to live with you because I wanted to earn anything. I came because I love you, and I remember how you held me in that closet. You completely accepted me. Completely wanted me. Through all your denial, the truth came through. And it created this baby. So if you sit there telling me there’s work and earning to be done, like our relationship is just another school assignment, you’re a bullying, Death Eating liar, Severus Snape, and you don’t deserve me or this kid.”

Harry’s words were so harsh, so accurate, that Snape’s face paled several shades lighter. Stricken recoil passed across it. He couldn’t recover fast enough to hide it. His mouth trembled on his outrage.

Instead of feeling triumphant, that bulls-eye did as much damage to Harry as it appeared to do to Snape. A bullet had fired from both ends. He pushed back from the table, bowed his head, and prepared to stand. Snape beat him to it, rising to his full height.

“Do you require further proof of my devotion to you?” His long frame snapped into rod-straightness. He began to walk around the corner’s edge with slow, methodical steps. Whatever challenge he’d heard in Harry’s cruelty, he accepted. 

Harry stood, done with his barely touched meal. 

“Sit down.” Snape’s teeth were visible on the whipping sting of his tongue. “You have insulted my efforts to be nothing but a gracious host and benefactor through this delinquency created by your own hands. It appears that I cannot save you from yourself, but if you attempt to escape your new home again, you will not do so without ample proof that you are center-most in my affection, and I give all that I can give to your happiness, and that you are an utter ass for thinking otherwise.”

Harry didn’t know if he was about to be slapped or hugged. Either prospect looked a little terrifying. 

“What are you doing? We have classes.”

“There will be no classes today. Not for you and I.”

“But--”

“I am sending word to the Headmaster, as we speak. He has devices that communicate my intentions for exactly just such occasions.”

The grave decisiveness in Snape’s eyes, pinned him to the chair. 

“What’s happening?”

The wizard towering over him, ticked his tongue. “I am deciding how I wish to proceed.” He spread his   hands, and summoned a slip of something scarf-like, from wherever it had been stored. Black fabric draped from one palm to the other. He considered Harry. 

“I have to bind you. I have to make sure that you can’t touch me, but I can touch you. Otherwise, you’ll have us both rolling on the floor.”

Harry’s jaw was stuck open. It took a second for him to realize he was being asked for his consent. He nodded dumbly, unsure of what was about to happen, but clued that it might be something very much desired.

Snape commenced to taking his arms, pulling them behind him, and wrapping the fabric as securely as he could around his wrists, and still allow him to sit comfortably. As he moved, his clothes fanned his natural scents into Harry’s alert anticipation. Snape’s hands racing around his, darting touches, that were at once, as subtle as they were gratifying, sent chills through Harry. 

Was this it? Was this sex? Out of nowhere? Was it always going to take a challenge? He filed the mechanics of how he’d pushed Snape to this point, away as he felt a series of kisses trail behind his ear, down his neck, and under his jaw. Warmth blossomed in his seat, as if he’d wet his pants, but he knew that was only his body answering the call. His mouth went completely slack as Snape’s breath, nearing it, told him how close he was to having something of this wizard, something wet, hot, and strong, inside. 

The kiss, when it came, took him past all suspicion, all fear that this was just a trick, just a weird idiosyncrasy of Snape’s idea of affection. He considered holding out against the hope of anything sexual happening. He couldn’t let himself be hurt like that again. But the kiss was real. Desire behind it, was real. The urgency challenging him to keep up with that larger and hungrier mouth, was real. If he’d known he could’ve had this two days ago, he would’ve done it. He would’ve said anything to have this privilege. Maybe sacrificing his pride to Lucius, hadn’t been a total loss after all. Not if it led to this. 

The way Snape bent over him, their limited contact was tormenting. So Harry put more show into proving he was ready for this, than necessary. He let himself be eaten through and opened wide to encourage more. In turn, he lathered the inside of Snape’s mouth with lapping enthusiasm, and demonstrated how willing he was to put anything of Snape’s in his mouth. 

If this wasn’t a portal to full-blown sex, he didn’t know what was. Snape’s wide hands slid down his chest and around his ribs, making him squirm. Mercury climbed between his legs and his stomach tightened on the energy pushing against his zipper. The beast wanted out. He thought he’d have to beg. His pleas were poised, all humiliation forgotten. But Snape’s fingers were coiling around his crotch and wedging between the folds of his robe.

He opened his eyes to take a snapshot, to prove that this was happening. There he was, this professor, looking at him and leaning into him. Each time he came forward to kiss, his eyes closed, giving Harry precious glimpses of a wizard swooning and unguarded. This close, Harry thought he saw the first gray hairs at Snape’s temples and in his eyebrows. He saw skin flushed with a cloud of fever and moisture. He saw lips, usually firm as girders, bend to the will of ravaging need. Emotion crashed through the thin skin of Snape’s lips, and turned them bright and infused. Harry made a point of memorizing the quality of their slick acceptance, and how Snape held him by his biceps to keep him in place and run him through with an assault of succulence that generated enough power to pull a tinsel of wetness out of his hardon. 

He’d never kissed like this before. If it hadn’t been happening to him, he would not have believed it possible. He had no idea that something that started out as one act between two people, could graduate into one whole new organ shared between them. Their cells must’ve pulsed in unison, as his body reacted as though hands were massaging under his shirt. Grazing that occurred in his mouth, occurred throughout his body. Nerves fired, sending back what Snape put in. Harry became a corresponding wave that struggled to stay in his chair. He came. He didn’t mean to. It was far too soon, yet those kisses had matured into something he’d never heard of before and his defeat sounded like a whimper to his ears. No wonder Snape had always been reluctant to kiss him. Truly intimate kisses were no different than sex.  
   
From what he knew of sex, having his ejaculate rock his body like that, meant that his bliss would soon be over. Still, it was the best he’d ever had, and now that he knew it could happen from kissing alone, he was more amazed than sorry to have it over with. 

“Snape.” The name hung on his lips. It was everything at the moment. And Snape, squeezing him aggressively through his robe, was a bonus that he had no words for. There was a moment of discomfort. He wasn’t finished jetting into his pants before his straining skin was being asked for more. There was a pinching sensation, he really hadn’t been given room. But when he felt Snape going under his robe to wrestle his pants open, he stopped breathing. 

Snape was touching it. Really touching it. His fingers were considerate and careful as they drew him out of his underwear. Looking down, Harry could only see the tent of those massive hands, but the sensation showed him every detail of how he was handled. He jerked in his seat, unable to free his wrists. Too much sensitivity made him recoil in the aftershock of his orgasm. But Snape was very patient and very persevering. Saying nothing, he put all of his encouragement in the way he stroked Harry’s tender skin back to a firmer state. 

“I don’t think I can,” Harry admitted, once he realized what the other wanted to do. 

Snape had gone to his knees now, bent over Harry’s lap, and looked up at him. Harry could hardly believe those were the same lips that had just caused his whole body to shudder and erupt. 

“Nonsense,” Snape said softly. “You’re eighteen, you can do this all day long, if properly inspired.”

Harry laughed at the insanity of it. “I’m telling you, that was --”

He lost his train of thought at the sight of Snape throwing his robe around his hips and sinking, head down, into his lap. When he felt the same mouth he’d been kissing, slide him in, his mind went into hyper speed and the sight of that white part dividing all that dark hair, pushed him into the realm of science fiction madness. He had never gone quite soft, but he hadn’t hoped for more than he’d gotten. The last few minutes had already made up for the past three months. How could he take more?

With bound wrists, Snapes liquid hot mouth, confirmed. He wasn’t being given a choice, and he thanked god, any god, for it. He was still too sensitive and he saw the genius in being tied so that his pelvis couldn’t run away no matter how much it lifted and caved beneath Snape’s hands and mouth. The noises he made, embarrassed him. The noises Snape made, enthralled him. He could’ve closed his eyes and enjoyed the conveyor belt of muscle that pulled him in and pushed him out, but he kept them open. He had to see it. His professor. This wizard, dignified to a fault. Those lips, those oh so skilled lips, sliding past veins and skin and engorgement. It was not a sight he thought possible. In the last few minutes, so many impossible things had become reality. The sight alone, put him over the edge. 

There was no point pretending he was going to last. He burned the image into his mind one last time, before throwing his head back and riding out the energy pulled from convulsion after convulsion. His abdomen pumped it out of him as hard as he could take it. Behind closed eyes, he saw the teeth that grazed him, the lips that glided over fleshy ridges and membranous skin. It was too much. And when he gushed, he fought to open his lids and catch a glimpse of the insane and forbidden. Snape’s beautiful mouth, glossy with a veneer of translucent white sheen. Snape swallowing. It made him come even harder, and he lost all sight of what his teacher was doing. 

It wasn’t a solution. Their problems were not over. But he could no longer deny that this man loved him, and wanted him. 

* * *

Again, thanks for all the kudos and supportive comments. This story will end soon. It was only a response to the first "pic-fic" in chapter one. People wanted more, so I tried to give it to them. I had bigger plans for it, as I love this combination of Snape/Harry. But my sense of drama is better suited to the larger stories I'm working on right now (Unbearable Harry and Arranged). My idea of Snarry is apparently not the traditional Snarry. I love big emotions in fiction, sexual tension, and things to get worked up about, hence all those arguments between the characters. For a lot of people, this is not Snarry, and a few have expressed distrust in my style. But Snape and Harry come out of their struggles only to be devoted to each other that much more, so it is. It's been a delicious ride and I hope to deliver an ending that restores order to all the chaos. Peace, love, and thanks! <3


	11. Bed Vows

Harry felt the sun before he opened his eyes. It warmed his lids, turning the dark of sleep into orange-red bursts as light passed from the outside world, through tissue-thin blood vessels, and solarized the activity in his brain. Heat on his face, sent him spiraling through memories of feeling cherished and safe by his parents. They were more feelings than they were specific memories, but they were valid. The heart can’t lie. They must’ve formed before language. His mother’s smile, greeting him as she leaned over his crib, must’ve left a lasting impression. 

He climbed up from sleep, stretching and wriggling his toes. He breathed in the subtle scent of another man on the sheets. That heady, olfactory information was so much a part of him now, so completely permeating his skin and mind, that he claimed it as his own. From now on, if he traveled, he would have to do so with one of Snape’s pillowcases, or his shirt. He was going to need that touchstone forever, if he wanted to really rest.

Through this seemingly idle return to life, his mind did calculations. That couldn’t be the sun. They were underground. Snape’s room had no windows. It had to be magic, or a dream. In any case, to open his eyes would be to spoil the illusion, so he refused to open them and inhaled even more deeply. He curled himself around the happiness in his heart, and clung to it as if it were Snape himself. To question why it wasn’t, was to risk losing this perfect comfort. Why was the best sleep, right before having to get up? No, he wasn’t going to wake fully, not until he had no other choice. 

Beside him, weight on the bed shifted. He risked a peek. He squinted into a room shattered by amber morning. An enormous window, overlooking the Black Lake, allowed dawn’s sky to come in, filling the room with a brilliant, honey colored spectrum that made Snape’s white sheets glow. Maybe in another setting, the brightness would’ve been painful. But some hypnotic charm, allowed Harry to adjust to the ambient fire wafting from those calm waters into the space around him. Snape sat up against his headboard, shirtless and covered to his waist. The sight of him pulled Harry’s hand from the covers so that he reached for the closest arm. Fine black hairs coursed the length of Snape’s forearm. Harry combed them with the pads of his fingers. This beautiful wizard was his. If he died right now, that would be okay because he’d made it. He’d done it. Life could not get more perfect than this. That journey, from the hell of his uncle’s storage cupboard, to this sublime moment of relief, was a mission accomplished. He felt like he had set a ton of equipment down, never to be needed again, now that he’d found this space. This ancient silence and sun. This wizard was his reward. He rubbed Snape’s arm, finding tremendous satisfaction in the fact that it wasn’t pulling away. 

The window, of course, was a charm. Black Lake and all. And as beautiful as it was, the idea that Snape had wanted him to wake up seeing it, was what made it so marvelous. He considered the sheets covering them, and pushed over on his back to lay his head on the fabric covering Snape’s lap. If this was a mirage, he was going to make himself king in it, before it vanished. He was going to take every ounce of languid affection that the real world denied him. If that meant being greedy, if that meant not blushing in the light of everything they’d done, then so be it. Outside the light, shadows hovered in the corners of the room. Inside, they were isolated in a yolk of protection. 

Harry said softly, “I want to wake up to this every morning. Thank you.”

Without having to ask, Snape handed him his glasses. They brought a fractalized view into greater focus. He looked from the window to calm expression staring down at him. He searched it for any sign of uneasiness or disapproval. He scanned for the normal tension, and found none. Instead of showing Snape’s age, sunlight softened it. And the revelation of so much skin, uncovered and unprotected, spoke volumes of how safe and relaxed Snape felt at this moment. Harry knew, this wizard didn’t let his guard down with anyone. To wake up to this expanse of nakedness, was to wake up in a temple. As he trailed his hand along Snape’s arm, he hoped to show reverence for what he’d been given. He raised his hand to watch dust molts spiral around it like subatomic planets in space, and remembered that that was once a comforting childhood sight. You could only see them in a light ray, a connection gone unnoticed until now. He never wanted his house to be so clean and sterile that he could not stand by a window and see this microcosm of the Universe. 

Snape’s larger hand joined him, blotting out part of the light. He pressed gently, until he had all of Harry’s fingers spread, and entered those gaps with his own. Their fingers interlocked. Harry closed his eyes on the energy that completed that circuit. For a moment, he drifted like a brilliant spec of dust in a sea of galactic darkness. There was nothing to fear. Not here. Not ever again. 

The night had seen all their tension washed away. He would never let anyone tell him that “it’s just sex” ever again. He wouldn’t let anyone get away with trivializing it. While it wasn’t penetrative sex, it was still every bit as intimate. It unlocked secrets. It calmed raging waters. In the wrong hands, with the wrong person, it could do a lot of damage. But with the right person, it was a portal to the next phase and dimension of one’s life. It really should be respected more. After all, innocent babies spring from its essence. No matter how ugly, sweaty, and torrid, the most angelic child could not enter into the world without it, science and Virgin Mary not withstanding. If people really made that connection, sex therapy would be provided by licensed healers throughout the world. Touch is essential. And now he understood why Snape wore so many clothes and discouraged touching. You couldn’t give just anyone access to your soul. 

  
His voice caused a ripple in the silence, “What was all that fighting for?”

Snape’s grip tightened slightly, followed by a heavy sigh. “Neither one of us could let ourselves have this for free.” 

He brought Harry’s hand to his mouth and kissed it. “We’re used to fighting for love, for things that should be. We don’t know what to do when it’s given without restriction. Now that we’ve struggled, we can justify having it. That’s not the best way, yet that is our way.”

Harry liked this reflective Snape. “What time is it?”

“It’s only midday. Don’t let the charm fool you.”

“It feels like we’ve had the whole night.”

“You’ll feel differently when you leave the charm.”

Don’t rush it. He heard the message and eased his head back down. 

He understood Snape’s reasoning. “All that fighting, just to have this. It’s like being ashamed to have anything easy. Ashamed to have money when the people you love, don’t. But they wouldn’t take anything from you because they’re dealing with the same pride. That’s how it felt to be given my parent’s money. Why is it so hard to let easy be right?”

“We must feel that our efforts are needed, I suppose. It’s how we price human value. Or else people would just go around minding their own business and trusting whatever is, to work itself out. Or worse, respecting another, whether they can perform meaningful labor or not. Can’t have that. So we choose difficulty. So we suffer just to say that we’ve earned our satisfaction.” 

Harry smiled. Never again. The last five hours or so, had seen so many new and major experiences, that he let it exist in its own time-space continuum. It was its own night that had passed, and this was a new morning, off the books. Whether it fit in with everyone else’s reality of clock-time or not, was irrelevant. 

He remembered having his hips clamped to the dining chair, under the press of Snape’s hands, and being hostage to his mouth. Being suckled, sucked in and pushed out by a spring of muscles that energized the act until the noises coming from him sounded like those of an absolute stranger. He didn’t know himself when that much pleasure hit, and he wanted to know who this person was. Who he was, in the presence of Snape’s intimate attention? He didn’t seem to be that person at any other time, and the only way to find out, was to beg to go into the bedroom. Beg to undress. In a post-orgasm sweat, he had pleaded. 

“You can tie me up. You can do whatever it takes to make sure I don’t hurt the baby, but I gotta touch you back. I gotta have as much of you as I can get.”

What he’d meant to say was, I want to see you naked. I want to fall on my knees and give you exactly what you gave me. I want us in bed, skin to skin, no matter where it leads. You have to give me a chance to give this back to you. 

The image of Snape’s lips, glistening with something too inappropriate to make himself say, was a hit of acid to his brain. Snape swallowing, with a residue of it disappearing from his pursed lips as he swabbed generously with a tongue that Harry would not have expected to be so agile and accommodating. How soon could Harry do that to him? Show him the same kind of acceptance? The same kind of gratitude. He didn’t want to hold anything back. 

His body had already had its fill of pleasure, now he wanted this teacher laid out before him, so that he could have a feast of a different kind. “Please take me to your room,” he begged. 

He saw the decision weigh pragmatically in Snape’s eyes, which were huge and dark with unspent buildup. Snape brushed strands from his face and proceeded to untie Harry’s wrists with a spoken word. The scarf slipped off. While Harry rubbed his wrists, Snape took one and led him to his bedroom. The night, out side of time’s record books, proceeded from there. 

He’d been electric with the anticipation of undoing all those buttons. He shook for the chance and waited as patiently as he could while Snape made agonizing worship of undressing him. There was no way he could play the part of the shy, quiet virgin. Not after that breakfast-job, though he sensed keeping still was the real gift to Snape. Think of what they were protecting, and Snape would let this go further. Give in to the maddening itch to be lost in the deepest places of hands, mouths, moisture and darkness, and it would all dry up. He withstood being handled like porcelain, and when it was his turn to place his hands on the wool-clad body before him, he wasted no time spreading his hands greedily over that black fabric. As many times as that expanse of chest and shoulders had been presented to him, never before had he been given permission to come at it like the feast it was. 

His hands heated and sailed across the contours of this teacher’s clothing. Surfaces swelled, as expected, in places, and came to a perfectly tapered V on the slide down his breastplate to his ribs, to his stomach. The best part, was seeing the effect of this foreplay on a wizard who’d been hiding from it for years. Pleasure might as well have been a knife to Snape’s gut, for the way Harry’s hands cut through the last of his reserve. He began straight, but bent the more Harry found places on him that had been neglected for far too long. He almost felt sorry for the way Snape sucked in his breath and tried not to make a sound against the hands slipping past all of his defenses. The tips of Harry’s fingers broke through, finding tender, heated skin behind shockingly white underclothing, behind all those severe and dark layers. Here, this fearsome wizard, felt soft. Really soft. The skin of a baby stretched over the muscles of a man. All the iron giving structure to Snape’s caution, melted beneath Harry’s touch. Something stuck in that throat. Something young and angry and completely cheated out of this, fought to free itself from Snape’s suppression of it. By massaging the bulge in his hand, Harry freed it, and rode the satisfaction of seeing Snape tremble insensibly. 

No sooner had he awakened this starved part of Snape, did he find himself being forced to take steps backwards. The bed hit the backs of his knees and his body did all the talking for him, saying everything when he lay back and Snape’s entire body draped itself over his. Still clothed, that greater mass covered him like a tent and he opened his legs to make sure he got the most of it. He arched into Snape’s weight. He wanted to be crushed by it, ruined by it, smeared into nothing but liquid want on those sheets, by it. All hope of remaining in control enough to return the favor that had been given to him, vanished the minute they were kissing again. A chunk of his neck ended up in Snape’s mouth, sending his eyes back into his head. From there, the memory of surfacing from pleasure was sketchy. 

He parted with sanity when Snape lifted him by his hips and devoured him as he lay in suspension, practically turned on his head. When this became too much for Harry, Snape let go, flipped him, and held his thighs apart to indulge the other side. Harry was in tears before his whimpers begged for mercy. Okay, those were not the actions of a prude. He was wrong. He’d been so wrong. All of them had gotten Snape wrong. All that intensity came from holding back, not being cold. Not being unapproachable, but being careful not to overwhelm people with the full dose of who he was, and what he could do. 

He remembered other things, snippets, like maneuvering himself beneath Snape again and using his arms to demand deeper, heavier contact. That position was beginning to be his favorite. It was the perfect dosage of comfort and pleasure, and it allowed him to remain aware, unlike some of the other activities that were too powerful to allow him to hang on to full alertness. He’d pulled on Snape’s back so hard, the other stopped. 

“I can’t give you all my weight.” 

Oh, right. The baby. 

Their lovemaking resumed. And when Harry rolled, offering his backside as a solution, Snape gave him just a bit more of the friction he was craving, but would not put it in. Instead, he eased Harry’s hips against him and filled the fleshy, curved gap of his ass, dark with invitation, with an erection angled to graze over it. He held Harry by the waist and from behind, rubbed his engorgement through an enclosure of thatched hairs, heated need, and gripping skin. From the front, he stroked and cradled the soft flesh of Harry’s testicles, feeling how they slid over his own organ as he pushed himself between the raised texture of those cheeks. 

This was more than enough to help Harry see that he was not ready for the fullness of penetration. This pressure alone, had him holding his breath against chills and spasms. He tried to hang on to every detail. He romanticized all of it. No matter how raw their actions, it played out in the mind of a boy denied fairy tales and gentleness, so he made each moment count as sacredly as his wedding night. This was his special and no one was going to laugh at him for it. Everybody had their own special, and so what if he was a grown man who’d only just discovered in the last hour that he had the heart of a sixteen year-old girl, and being treated with tenderness and desire actually meant a fucking lot. Who knew? It felt so good. Yeah, it looked stupid in movies, but that’s only because he’d never believed in it before. Not like this. There was nothing like having someone hold you and cherish every inch of you, even the shameful parts. He would never laugh at muggle soap operas ever again. Maybe they were stupid, but this kind of happiness, was behind it all, and that couldn’t be filmed. Not even porn captured this. No where near. 

At some point, he realized he’d been tricked into having a series of obliterating orgasms, without giving Snape what he wanted to give him. In twisted sheets, he attacked before he was ambushed again. He managed to wrestle Snape’s erection from concealment and into his mouth. In many ways, it was like the penetration that had been denied him. So this was what it was like. Finally. He studied everything. Taste, texture, firmness, silkiness, the flutter of Snape’s eyelids. The way his teeth gritted when Harry’s lips slid over him, pulling, pushing, riding the delicate satin of bullet hardness. He wasn’t satisfied until he’d memorized as much as he could of the sensation, and measured his success on the sounds he pulled from Snape. When it would’ve been cruel to prolong it any further, he stopped being selfish and lost himself in the act of being the receptacle that the swollen thing needed. Without showing any intimidation, he relished the results and expertly hid his shock at the quantity that escaped his mouth. Holy fuck, he was lucky he wasn’t having triplets. 

Snape’s unguarded moment was a gift to him. It shook the bed and Harry invited the power of it into his bones. Looking at him, without him being able to look back, Harry saw all that was visible of this wizard’s soul, and peered deeper. He wanted to go with Snape into that exquisite, velvet darkness, and knew that one day he would. He was amped by the success of it all, that he waited until the last tremor left Snape before placing kisses all over him. He intended to leave no spot of skin untouched by his gratefulness, but Snape pulled him into his arms and took everything from his mouth, that he’d intended to give, all at once. Instead of getting sleepy, Harry became more euphoric as the hours passed. He didn’t know what hit him when Snape persuaded him to lie on his stomach and began rubbing circles around his back. Circles led to a massage. His muscles were tricked into giving up the last of their fight. Snape’s hands were like an opium drip, silencing the childish part of Harry, who was afraid to settle down for fear of missing something. He quieted and his nerves began to sing out in anesthetizing pleasure as he succumbed to sleep. 

Now, with his head in Snape’s lap, he spoke his most whimsical fantasies out loud. “When you retire, can we get a house with a view like this? The sun, the lake. A bedroom view, just like this?” 

No one could ever wake up to this and still be in a bad mood or stressed out about anything.

Extra gentleness laced Snape’s words. “I would retire tomorrow and see it done if I thought you were ready.”

“I’m ready. I’m already addicted to that back rub. I’ve decided. If you’re not going to sleep with me, the way people do, I want to negotiate our arrangement.”

“Really? I never said that I wouldn’t ever, but what did you have in mind?”

Snape’s hand, still entwined with his, squeezed. 

Harry smiled up at him. “I’m going to need five of those a week. Thirty minutes each. I’m pretty sure. That will take care of the physical side of things, as long as we can still do this.” 

Snape looked thoughtful. “How about three a week, for a minimum of fifteen minutes? That way, you will not grow so used to it that you become unimpressed.”

“Mmm, then can I sleep here? I can’t go back to my bed now. Say yes.”

“I have a packed schedule. I’m not retired yet. Unfortunately, I require sleep.”

“I promise, I won’t bother you. Not every night. But we’re definitely doing that again. Right?”

Snape trailed his finger along Harry’s jawline. “Whenever possible.”

Score! There was no way he could hide a triumphant smile behind that. “I wore you down. The great, imposing Snape.” 

“You did.” 

“It’s settled. Your bed is my bed. My bed is your bed. Those are our vows.”

The both of them felt a twinge of energetic tension at the mention of that word. Vows. Their magic snagged on it. Harry wondered why Snape’s expression had dimmed, and Snape chose his next words very carefully. 

“There is that. You know, no matter what you decide, this child seals our connection. I must be a part of my child’s life. So, even if you meet someone else, fall in love, I will still need for you to make room for me.”

Harry disengaged his hand and pressed it against Snape’s mouth. “Shhhh, no more of that from you. How could you think I’d even allow a crack between us, that someone else could come between? I know, that Lucius thing was a fiasco, but I promise I will never put you through that again. You wouldn’t touch me. That was pure pain, not who I really am. I know you’re a realist, Severus Snape, but don’t ever push me away like that again, and I’ll never give you a reason to think I’d betray you. I’d make an unbreakable vow to prove it.”

“Would you?”

“If you asked me to.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to, but I’m afraid that if you married me, you’d have no other choice.”

Harry’s head shifted. “What do you mean?”

“You think that I’m not jealous. That I have so much self-control. The truth is, that quality is handed down to me by wizards and witches who abolished such insecurities by marrying into power. I have a set of rings that would hold you to your vows, to fidelity, and curse anyone who tries to come between us.”

“Rings?”

“Heirlooms. Even after my mother’s name was erased from her family’s ledger, the rings followed her bloodline. They came to me. They assure me that when my back is turned, my treasures will be safe. To use them, would be to lay claim, to the magic and related resources that my mother was denied. Without that assurance, I can tell you that I would sooner murder any man or woman who might lure you away from me. I would be that insecure. Know that and do not test it. If you agree to marry me, you are mine. The rings allow me to tolerate the attention that you elicit from others, but without them, I am left to my own devices. I despise my competition. Know that and do not test it again.”

Harry sat up, looking steadily into Snape’s eyes. “No more games, then. But you’re just as much mine as I am yours. Can we modify the spells? I can never cheat on you, but you can never deny me, no matter how prudish you’re feeling.”

“That would require blood, and I’m not sure it can be done at all.”

“Done.”

“First blood.” Snape raised an eyebrow.

“Really? Sick. Done.” He thought he knew what Snape meant. The idea passed between them, unspoken.

“My point is, the rings are cursed, Harry. They are not about happiness. They’re about commitment. Even if you become unhappy, even if you attempt to leave, you can never really leave our union. It’s a life contract.”

“What does it stipulate?”

“Above all else, loyalty to me. At least one child. There’s more to do with living arrangements and how much time you can spend in another's company, but you can read those documents if you choose to pursue this. We don’t have to use the rings for a muggle ceremony, but the child has already triggered the same magic which resides within the rings. Blood of my blood. You suffered for my touch because my family’s magic is activated within you. If we don’t use the rings, that magic will interpret it as a breech of contract. A threat. Not even I can say what effect that will have on you, or all of us. But I think your pain would not have been so harsh, had I not placed one of those rings on your hand. You would not have ran to Lucius to relieve the hurt. That was as much my fault as anyone’s. That’s why I felt no need to reprimand you for it. You’re already giving me more than I deserve. You’re so bright against the backdrop of life, it’s ridiculous of me to ask you to belong only to me. Other people need your light. As miserable an existence as I’ve had, it’s a miracle in more ways than one, that you’ve combined with me to make a child. I would not ask you to imprison yourself to my side as well.” 

“Don’t you want me?”

“Of course. But the rings will take away your choice. Without them, you might recover from the influence after the child--”

“Our child.”

“Yes, after our child is born. But with them, you will wear them and their curse to your grave. I can’t have you enter into something that’s going to claim your life so completely. Not unless you fully understand. There is no backing out.”

“Well, you’ll be there, right? I mean, as long as you’re with me, that’s my choice. That’s what a marriage is.”

“Harry, my mother wanted to leave her marriage and couldn’t. It killed her.”

Harry grabbed the sides of his face. “And you’ve been carrying that trauma ever since. The clothes, the coldness, the insults and distance that you put between yourself and everyone else. All of it can be traced back to a kid who saw the most important person in his life, die from love. At least, that’s what your child’s brain saw. When love goes wrong, it hurts so badly, that people would rather die than suffer that kind of pain. That’s what you got from your mother’s pain, but that’s not the truth. I don’t know what went wrong in your parent’s marriage, but my mother, what little time I had with her, showed me something different. She died for love too. Either way, we die. We’re going to love and we’re going to die. The rings didn’t hurt your mother, you’re father did. You’re not going to hurt me. And now that you’re in my heart, I can’t stop myself from loving you. I’m going to die anyway, but I’m going to live with you as my husband. I will not let you, or some family curse, scare me off of that. That was mine before I ever heard of any rings. If things go sour, if we go down an unhappy path, then we go together.” 

Snape placed his hands over Harry’s. “Don’t be so quick. You have time. Think about it.” 

“You jerk. I want a formal proposal, not a scare tactic.”

“Give it time. Read the documents.” 

“You owe me a date.”

“Soon. There’s something else. If you agree to marry me, we have to have a ceremony. It’s rather crude, but as long as we’re talking curses, you might as well know all the ugliness up front.”

“Go on.” Harry dropped his hands and opened his legs to sit squarely across Snape’s thighs. 

Here, Snape searched for words. Strain slowed his speech. “My ancestors will want to attend. It’ll be brief, but important. The rings are vows enough, and they are pre-made. What truly speaks to generations past and future, is the energy. Since we’ve effectively fertilized an egg, so to speak, the only thing lacking is the consummation of our marriage. You may view the rings, but you will not be able to wear one until the ancestors approve. They must witness our first penetrative union. Their magic will work from that side, to ensure ours are properly connected on this side.”

“Umm… ”

“The witnessing will be accomplished by a public viewing. A place will be chosen, unknown to either of us until the appointed time. The anxiety is intentional. They need your energy to boost their connection with this world. At least for the ritual. Ordinary muggles will be used. Their eyes will be used as looking glasses in much the same way that one looks out of a window onto another world entirely.”

“Regular, non-magic people, will be able to see us?

He smiled. “Not so romantic, is it? That’s not precisely what will happen, but it will look as if that’s what’s taking place. We will be isolated from normal perception. There will be barrier wards. A smoke screen of sorts, but muggle eyes must have full view of us. Any muggle looking at us, will be confused as to what they’re seeing. No one is going to send for the police.”

“Your relatives need to see this?”

“Not just my relatives. It’s a wedding ritual. Yours will be their as well. All who have an interest may borrow the lenses of a passerby’s eyes.”

“That sounds like possession. Is that common? You make it sound harmless.”

“That’s not possession, anymore than the instinct to turn right instead of left is possession. To the muggle, each one will think that they alone are seeing an odd combination of events. Their lack of acceptance will cause them to see it through a fog of confusion, but our guests will see much more. Don’t worry, when you’re dead, it’s not the flesh that intrigues you, it’s the energy. I’m going to make it up to you. That first time will not be ideal. But I promise to show you the sweeter side of it afterwords. When you’re ready.”

Harry wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He still wanted to marry Snape, but he couldn’t pretend not to be shocked and a little put off by the pagan tradition. He ran a finger down Snape’s chest. “How long do you think we’d have to be exposed like that?”

“Minutes. When you’ve internalized my family genetics, and I yours.”

“What?”

“Semen. Fluids. That’s all they want. The very thing we can’t do at the moment.”

“Gross,” Harry laughed. “Just say it. It’s going to hurt. They want me to bleed.”

“They’re old fashioned that way. Like the muggle saying, ‘no pain no gain.’”

That type of old temperament reeked of testing a person’s stock. Would this new member complain? Would they whine for better treatment, or suffer with dignity? He could practically hear Snape’s ancestors pondering which one was he. 

Harry suggested, “We’ve already got the first part covered, or do they count anything we’ve done tonight.”

“Ingestion doesn’t count.” 

“Or does it?” he leered.

“No, it really doesn’t.”

“That absolutely sounds horrible. I’m going to need you to make that up to me.”

“For the rest of my life.” 

“Before or after the baby’s born?”

“Hopefully after. We can’t be too careful.”

Harry leaned forward and kissed him. It was slow and deliberate, before he slid down and rearranged his body to lay with his head on Snape’s chest. Snape had to slide down in the bed, but after that conversation, both sought refuge in the position. It was Snape’s turn to trace the hairs on Harry’s arm. He gently stroked, coaxing Harry to talk through heavy lids. 

“You owe me a date.” It was mainly to take his mind off of the ritual. He was glad he had more time to work his nerve up to something like that. 

“Allow me to rearrange my schedule. In one week, I’m going to walk from one end of Hogsmeade to the other with you on my arm. Then off to Diagon Alley to buy you an engagement gift. Reliable gossip, in the right circles, will confirm our joining to anyone still in doubt. I will send word of my amended intention to the Minister himself. I worry that this will make you more of a target, but my reputation will be useful. Anyone who troubles you, should know they will have me to contend with. We shall be trailed by hidden bodyguards for sometime.”

Harry snuggled into the prospect. “I accept.” Before, the idea of compromised privacy would’ve made him balk. But here in this space, in the core of Snape’s affection, it wasn’t a problem. The world could see him living his life alongside this wizard, as long as he got to do exactly that. He had nothing to hide, and everything to love about being recognized as Snape’s chosen. No matter how much the idea of some weird ritual intimidated him, he was in love with the idea of being a husband to this wizard. 

He drifted, soothed by the thought. He was so relaxed, Snape’s palm, sliding across his stomach, didn’t phase him. It made him sink even more deeply into the center of himself. That hand glided down, past his navel and stopped short. He knew that Snape was using his magic to detect what he could of the baby. 

Harry encouraged him. “Boy or girl?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Do you know?”

“I do.”

Harry thought about it. “I think it’s a boy. Just because I want him to look just like you.”

“And I was rooting for a daughter, because I want to honor my mother. If I can make a daughter happy and keep her safe, then I will have corrected all the damage that my father has done.”

“You think your mother will come back through her. Then you can treat her like a princess. Princess Prince.”

“I know, it’s silly. Thank goodness, there will be no one to ask to bear the responsibility of healing all of that. It wouldn’t be fair to ask that of her or any child.”

He placed his hand over Snape’s. “Hey, nobody’s making any demands. It’s okay to wish that things had been better for your mother. I think that when we see him, if everything turns out all right, maybe we can make one more.”

“Just get through this one. If all I get is a lousy old son out of it, I would not ask you to try again until you get it right.”

Harry laughed, knowing the words carried a lot more sentiment than they sounded. 


	12. Eternal Bruises

Snape was true to his word. That following weekend, while Harry’s friends trudged on foot to the village, he dressed in his smartest robe and entered the little community in an open carriage, seated alongside Snape. A driver had been hired to wait on them, and when people began pointing at the carriage and nudging one another, the gentlemanly wizard played along. He sat up with purpose, gripped the reins, and encouraged the two stallions to keep steady, no matter the crowds beginning to point and cluster. 

Snape wore new, sleek robes beneath a cloak spelled to reflect an unnatural black. Harry knew the story behind that. He’d used a tailor who bragged about getting him to go with a royal burgundy suit of ceremonial robes. Lucius Malfoy’s tailor got wind of it, and Lucius performed an intervention. 

He appealed to Snape at the second fitting. “This is your courtship and you can do what you like, but as an old colleague, I’m telling you, jewel tones make you look ill. If you’re going to be seen in public, you must learn to layer your blacks and tertiary hues. The droll grim reaper is out, elegant silks are in. For God’s sake, let me help you.”

In the end, an array of fancy textures chosen by Lucius, from handsome slate grays to smoke-silver navy, were blasted into infinite darkness by Snape, as a final statement on the matter. At the last minute, he did allow Harry to place a short-brimmed, English Fedora on his head. The effect, with Snape’s hair neatly combed away from his face, had Harry grinning like an idiot and desperate to keep Snape away from the mirror. 

“Look at my face,” Harry stopped him from the looking glass. “Do you see how happy I am? That is an indicator of how you look. Please don’t take it off.”

Uneasiness left Snape’s face and he took Harry’s arm. “Very well. Just remember this the next time I request that you wear something that only I can appreciate.”

Harry blushed. He knew that if Snape could see how handsome he looked, how respectable and traditional, he’d sabotage the whole look by ditching the hat and messing up his hair. Right or wrong, all he wanted to do was show this wizard off. Lucius’ influence had been spectacular. The clothes were still dark, but the quality of fabric and skill hung so well on his six-foot, one-inch frame, that his every stride was a cavalcade of walking energy and elegance. Masculinity had never looked so beautiful to Harry, and he just knew their son was going to get a healthy dose of his father’s traits. He would be tall. Harry was counting on it. That, more than anything, would give the finger to a world of doubters and haters. 

Their carriage passed by pools of walking students. Each group cheered them on. The support elevated the significance of their first public date. Harry was careful to wave back at his friends, picking the faces of Ron and Hermione out from among them, and ignoring the well-meaning slurs that implied anything other than an old fashioned date was taking place. In the village, word of their approach raced ahead like dominoes. It was only to be an afternoon of window shopping, a gift or two, and dinner, but people parted the streets for them like it was a parade. Soon, journalists were snapping photos and being warned by Snape not to ruin this one rare event with Harry by overstepping their boundaries and expecting anything so inordinate as an interview. 

“Mr. Potter is still in my charge and legally ineligible to be accosted by your journalistic right to know his thoughts on anything. You may take your photos, but stay fifteen feet away from us for the duration of our outing. And don’t speak to him. Test me on this, and your film will melt along with your cameras.” 

Harry smiled. 

They made a point of walking on foot and stopping in his favorite shops. Wherever they went, they were greeted with excessive welcome, as if this bit of publicity could make or break a shopkeeper’s reputation. Turns out, no shop wanted them to leave empty-handed, and when Harry didn’t seem to want anything badly enough to ask for it, he was given spontaneous gifts to celebrate his open courtship. Ron and Seamus volunteered to shuttle an assortment of wines, breads, and small merchandise, back to the waiting carriage. 

Harry told them instead, “Carry what you can back to the Great Hall. Spread it out. You guys enjoy. This is my feast.”

He took Snape’s arm and laid his head against his shoulder. Snape’s face tightened with purpose, but his arm encouraged Harry closer and they took off down the cobbled street at an unhurried pace. Dinner took place on Rosmerta’s rooftop. They had it to themselves, courtesy of Snape’s foresight. It had recently been converted to an outdoor terrace and there, Harry ate shrimp and steak while the sun set behind him. He blew out flames on a Black Forest Rum Cake that Severus had had made for him, and opened a gift box wrapped in forest green velvet.

He expected a ring. Or _the_ rings, but something else shimmered on the lining inside. A very tiny vial. He held it up to the fading light. White, translucent liquid appeared to glow. “What is it?” 

“Your consent. When you drink that, we will begin the ritual. It will not happen until you’re ready. And for it to happen, you must surrender your entire will to me. That potion will render you helpless. I don’t know if we’ll need it before the baby arrives, but it’s best to have it on your person. It will blur the lines between dimensions. It will enable you to travel, but will limit your muscular agility. I must carry you to the location, and you must trust me to bring you through the ceremony safely. Our child will be bound in suspension, as will you, for protection. You will be able to move, but you will not have the clarity and strength to direct your movement. The minute you drink this, my ancestors will begin the process from their side. Your family will be in attendance. If you still want to marry me, after everything I’ve told you, accept it, and drink it when you’re braced to let the next few hours happen unimpeded.”

Harry threw his head back. Silent laughter shook him. “I was really expecting a ring. I feel like an idiot.”

Why on earth would he want a muggle diamond? He didn’t like jewelry and he’d never longed for one great day that would make an extravagant purchase like that necessary. It’s just that, he never thought he’d get married either. And since he was, he’d been programmed to expect a rightness about it. A sense of order and sincerity. An original ring, not those family things that Snape seemed almost afraid of. Something new, something that represented him and Snape. He thought this day would see a simple band purchased to mark the occasion. He’d been waiting to see what Snape was going to do. Hogsmeade wasn’t exactly the epicenter of sophistication, but Snape was resourceful enough to come up with something.  

He exaggerated his sigh. “Do I have to do everything, myself?” 

He stood, brushed down his robes, and slowly kneeled in front of Snape’s chair. Snape’s eyes glistened darkly in the gloaming. There was more blue on the horizon than gold, and Harry was glad for the last of the light. He pulled his own tiny box from his robe pocket. He opened it.

“Severus Snape, will you marry me?” 

Yeah, it was tacky, but one of them had to ask it. As worn as those words were, they still meant something to him and he was not going to let a marriage happen without them. The ring wasn’t a diamond. It was a gold, doubled-looped band that required two fingers to support the onyx and emerald S and P sculpted into intertwining letters. If Mr. Malfoy could pull off such adornment, imagine what those powerful rings would look like on a powerful wizard with hands like Snape. Sex on feet. Why shouldn’t he outfit his man in all the refinement he could give him? 

He hadn’t known he was going to make the purchase until he’d done so, ages ago. Snape was still in the hospital when he saw it while helping Ron pick a ring for Hermione. Behind the glass, the semi precious stones were still in their raw shapes. He’d had to pay extra to have them formed into letters. It was intended to be a simple gift, nothing of this magnitude. But when he’d calmed down from all his frustration with Snape, and knew this evening was coming,  he remembered that he had it. Hidden, until he felt it would be welcomed. 

It took precious seconds before he could determine what Snape’s face was doing. Something simmered behind perfect stillness. Some inner conflict froze his reply, and Harry thought he saw reprimand forming on those pinched lips. 

Finally, “As honored as I am, how dare you assume that I would not be prepared to take the lead in this matter? I kneel before you, you do not kneel before me.”

Harry huffed. “Wrong answer.” 

Snape pretended not to hear. “Return to your seat.”

“This has nothing to do with archaic roles. It’s just nice. Fun. Accept it because it feels good.”

“I will not. And the hell it doesn’t. You’re the one who can have anyone you want. You’re the one leaving your home, friends, and life, for my fortress. I will not answer to your lowered state. Rise. I’m marrying a wizard of equal measure.”

“Snape. Can you just let this be easy? Can you not fight or find something wrong with it?”

The question took them both to the intimacy they shared a week ago, to that space of honest yielding, and Snape’s expression revealed to Harry that the problem was one of embarrassment at being the center of any lavishment. Why he couldn’t just blush like everyone else, amused Harry. Softness wasn’t what Snape considered himself born and bred for. He was perfectly willing to let Harry deal with all of that. 

Snape said, “We will bring our strengths to this marriage. You do what you’re good at. I’ll do what I’m good at.”

Harry got it. Snape wasn’t good at receiving gifts or standing still and letting someone else take care of him. That took too much humility, however, Harry was great at it. He was versatile enough to rush to aid, and still sit back to let someone else have a turn at playing hero. 

Instead of arguing with him, Harry said, “Give me your hand.” His tone warned, don’t argue with me. Snape must’ve known how thin Harry’s patience was. He held out his hand and attempted to bring relaxation to his face as Harry tested the fit. He’d measured while Snape was unconscious in that hospital bed. The ring was more snug than he expected, but it glided into place on that perfect hand and even Snape had to admire how important it looked. He held it out. One side of his mouth turned up before he could stop it. For a split second, he forgot his embarrassment. He forgot himself.

Harry’s burst of grin startled him. It looked too much like laughter. Too much like delight at seeing him unprepared for the feeling that washed over him. He erased his smile and put his hand down. 

Harry called him on it. “That made you smile.”

“You made me smile. I’m not one to express sentiment over crystallized stone, however shiny.” 

It was the classic, ‘I’m not crying, you’re crying,’ and Harry relished it. It might be all that he ever saw of unguarded happiness on his face. 

Snape turned the ring to catch the light. With the last of the sun, lanterns and candles had sprung up around them. “Does it have any magical properties?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s from a muggle jeweler.”

“This is the sort of craftsmanship that my ancestors would not allow to remain a muggle artifact. It wants a spell.”

His heart expanded. “Do you have something in mind? Careful, you don’t want to go creating a ring that won’t let you back out of a promise.”

He laughed, but saw Snape take out his wand, and his smile faded. There was no humor on Snape’s face as he appeared to think carefully about his next actions. 

“My family’s rings are symbols of commitment, not love. You have given me a symbol of your love. I shall return it. Stand.”

He did. 

Snape took his hand. “I would not pluck a symbol from anywhere outside of the source itself.” 

He bent, pulling Harry into a kiss. Pressure, and a million minute details conveyed the energy Snape’s body summoned. Harry felt a slow, controlled urgency and gladly opened his jaw when nudged to do so. Magic trembled, from Snape’s body to his, and his answered it. Somewhere in blackness, intention coiled and sprung into life. A sorcerer wanted to leave his mark, to make his claim tangible and incorruptible. To press it so deeply into Harry’s life, that it could not be removed and could not be forgotten. Even an inviolate ring could be amputated from the finger, if one wanted it gone badly enough. What he drew from Harry, grew up through his skin and met in the slick heat of their mouths. It was the dining room all over again, only jarringly so, as Snape’s magic invaded the canals of his veins and ripped an upheaval of quivering reaction from him. 

Things heated quickly, and Harry had no choice but to stand in the path of what Snape wanted. Once again, mounting energy turned their bodies into one organ that pulsed to circulate mutual excitement. The current took him and Snape’s grip was the only thing holding him up as he let himself flow in abandonment. Magic threaded his veins, becoming as pronounced as gold tinsel. His blood streamed with it. It shot up, from the heels of his feet, through the striations of his calf muscles. Everything met in his solar plexus, shaking him like a fault line, before bursting out of some invisible opening there. Lightning struck him from the inside, paralyzing him. For seconds, he couldn’t move and still Snape’s tongue pulled the wires on his body. A charge of ionized spikes exited from his chest, bursting open a psychic hole that he didn’t know was possible. It hurt. The pain was real. It forced him to admit that something was happening. A few seconds were too much, and he fought to push away. 

Contact broke. He stumbled out of Snape’s grasp and clutched his chest. It hurt and it bent him over. The energy there, upset his cardiac rhythm greatly. It was unsettling, and not pleasant at all. What was this? 

“Don’t panic,” he heard Snape whisper. “Nothing’s wrong.” 

He wasn’t so sure. He gripped his robe, willing himself to recover. His mind struggled to make sense of it. Biochemical. Electrical. That was fucking electricity that came out of him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he saw burns on his skin. As soon as he stopped shaking, he was going to check. It fucking hurt. 

“What did you do?” Harry asked, stricken. His back was to Snape and he thought he might crumple, but strong hands pulled him up. 

Instead of answering, Snape pulled him against him and deeply inhaled Harry’s hair. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know it would hurt that badly. I only wanted to produce a symbol that could not be misplaced or mistaken.”

He cupped the back of Harry’s head. “I wanted it made of flesh, living and breathing, and a part of you long after our child has grown up. What you’ve done with jewelry, I wanted to do with living flesh. No wizard would ever be able to look at you without questioning my mark, without receiving growing warning when he ventures too close to what is mine. And it’s not a prison. If your love ever dries up for me, the mark will disappear. You’re free to love whomever you will. But as long as you love me, my symbol will show.”

Harry pulled back. He searched for answers that Snape’s eyes were not giving. Finally, he took hold of his coat, opened it, jerked down his robe and fought through his shirt, to get to his bare skin. His chest was bleeding. The smudge of blood was the size of a galleon and Snape’s wand was already cleansing it away. In its wake, dark specs of broken, cauterized blood vessels, created a purplish-red bruising in the center of Harry’s pale chest. 

“The worst of it will fade, but you will always have a bruise.”

“What is it?” He ran his finger around it, afraid of the sensitivity. 

“It’s everything we feel when we kiss like that. You have your symbols. I have mine. I hope it wasn’t too much.”

Still recovering, Harry wished he could say that it wasn’t, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to. He was too rattled to be sure. He was pretty certain that his heart wasn’t meant to take voltage like that. If he lived and didn’t collapse, he might be thrilled, but right now, he was too scared to move. 

“I put my touch into your body and drew it back out again through the energy center of your heart. There is truly a disc of light there that opens and closes. That isn’t a myth. You have them all over. It’s who we really are.”

It took him a minute. “What’s going to happen with it?”

“Nothing. You’re going to wear it for me, just as I am going to wear yours.” He held out his hand and further astonished Harry by pointing his wand at it. “Portio impartior.”

The ring glowed a beautiful, phosphorous green for a second, before splitting perfectly between the S and the P. Snape removed the S portion. “Give me your hand.”

Obediently, Harry did. The letter of Snape’s last name glistened as it slid loosely up his finger. A few tweaks with magic, and the ring fit. He stared at it, not knowing what to say. 

“Now we are both wearing engagement gifts. Some may say that yours is prettier than mine, but I find a certain charm in the coloration of your skin. The bruise should settle at something closer to a sheer burgundy wine, rather than a blue merlot.”

He kissed Harry again, and held him until the trembling stopped and his strength returned. They took a room at the inn, paid the carriage driver three times over for his patience, and sent him away with instructions to return in the morning. 

That night, Harry got up from the bed to face his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He compared his symbol to Snape’s. It looked as angry as a fresh cigar burn, but it was no longer painful. In fact, a bout of lovemaking had revealed it to be a nucleus of sensitivity that had his body jerking every time Snape kissed him there. Now he got it. It was a bypass, a hard wire to that place where Snape’s touch made him forget everything. A magic g-spot. That thought made him blush and laugh at the same time. He could just see future arguments where he had to keep Snape from touching it so that he could hold onto his anger when he needed to hold onto it. This wasn’t going to be used as a fail safe, to trick him into giving in. But yeah, it was sexier than a ring. Only a wizard would make that connection. Maybe, in a few days, the redness wouldn’t be so bright. 

He admired it for a few more minutes before turning out the light and returning to bed. In succeeding weeks, it faded into a painless discoloration. A hickey. One that never went away. He cherished it. 

* * *

  
A/N: If you’re happy so far, consider letting the story end right here for you. The next chapter can be thought of as an alternate ending, but it’s my usual dramatic style and teasing with relationships. You’ve been warned. :-) 


	13. Glimpses

As parenthood loomed ahead, Harry decided to meet it head on. The first kick inspired him to sign up for classes on infant care and child-rearing. Snape attended them with him, and they turned one of the spare rooms into a nursery, complete with dragons that glowed when the lights were off, and which tossed bright red balls with their snouts when the lights were on. They began amassing diapers, tiny clothing, and child-proofing the rooms. They let McGonagall throw them a shower and attended in gracious acceptance, collecting all of their gifts.

They made plans to look for proper housing, but intended to keep their words, to stay on at the school for the remaining year and a half that they'd promised. Snape fully expected Harry to finish his education at the next level. Harry let him think this, until it became obvious that his baby interested him more than his academic struggle. If he had to use the child as an excuse to give up the fight, he would. University wasn't for everyone and he just wanted to feel valuable without having to put himself through yet another world of rigors, just to gain anyone's respect.

"I want to be a dad first. No more compromising. Not with my kid. He'll only be a baby once."

That was reason enough for Snape, who stopped encouraging applications to secondary institutions.

At twenty-five weeks, Harry had an accident. Being followed by cameras had become a regular thing. One he tolerated because he was truly happier than he had been in a long time. He learned that if he just stopped and offered a friendly response to persistent journalists, they often respected his boundaries and didn't pursue him after he'd given them a photo that required nothing more than a few seconds of his time. This relationship with the press worked well enough, until the day one of them got bold enough to take Harry by his arm.

Grail, who was still his bodyguard, took action at the same time that Harry did. Harry's wand was only intended to make a show, but Grail's fired a defensive spell that not only got the reporter off of Harry, but triggered Harry's wand to release the spell he'd been holding at the ready. The resulting energy threw Harry and the reporter ten feet from where they stood. When he could not be roused, a flurry of panic sent reporters doing everything they could to assist Grail in getting him help.

He woke up in the private hospital he'd been in before, and told that the baby's placenta had ruptured. The blood supply to the baby was so intricate, they couldn't go in and perform a simple reattachment. They were using magic to do what mending they could, but blood loss had already affected the baby's vital signs.

"He can't survive outside of your body. It's too early. It would be certain death to remove him now. But this way, he might get enough oxygen to stay alive. We don't know. If he lives, we may be looking at brain damage. But we can't guarantee that he'll make it through the next few hours, let alone the night."

He and Snape were given a private room, and monitor, with which to listen and watch the fading heartbeat of their son.

Shock became grief, and Harry tried to keep perfectly still as Snape sat next to him. He willed the little body inside him to keep breathing, to keep signaling with those blunt jabs that poked, and had only recently made a full night's sleep impossible.

"This can't be right," he told Snape. "He's got too much life in him. They're wrong. He'll be fine. You'll see."

Beside him, Snape looked as dark and sour as any rumor had ever embellished him to be. Hair hung in globular strings around his eyes. Red-rimmed, and heatedly perspiring, he glared at anyone who came through the door, and spoke to Harry through clinched teeth.

"We're going to nee help. I won't sit here listening to his heart grow weaker and weaker, and do nothing about it. What the bloody use is magic, if it doesn't do anything at a time like this?"

"He's strong. He's fighting it. I can feel him."

"He's dying. Those are suffocation spasms."

This was enough to collapse Harry's resolve, bringing him to tears. "Damn you! Don't make me give up on him. Leave."

"Harry, we need greater magic. We need our family's help. We've put this off for as long as we can."

He knew what Snape was asking. It didn't make sense to him to move his body right now. "How can your family help us? They don't even acknowledge your existence."

"The rings do. I'm dead to my living relatives, but the rings hold my blood accountable. Our child is almost here, and we've done nothing to honor that mixture of blood and magic. That reporter wasn't just an accident. The accident was a message. Our time is running out. We will not be allowed to bring life from our union unless we complete the contract. We must put on the rings."

Harry shook his head on his pillow. "He'll die if I move. That much faster. Don't talk to me about contracts."

"I'm trying to tell you, the rings orchestrated this event. They want us married. My family is in on it. Yours is too now. We must perform the ritual. They won't give him back to us unless we do."

For the first time, Harry caught a glimpse of what it meant to wear those heirloom rings. "Will those rings make slaves of us?"

"Marry me, and we can cut our fingers off later. I don't know. But I do know that time is running out. I did everything in my power to push you away from my magic and my family, and our contracts. I tried to protect you from this, and now it's here."

Feeling as though steam were rising from his face, Harry swallowed his pain. "Give me the vial."

Snape produced it from the ether. Harry had stored it in his trunk and waited to see if a moment would ever come that would make him drink it. That moment was here. One sip, and he would have to give up complete control. His body would no longer be his, not for the duration of the ritual, and he feared what Snape's disapproving ancestors would do with it. If they could influence the life of his baby, they were not nice people.

His hand shook as he lifted the vial to his lips. It was their only hope. Tears spilled out as the liquid went in. His will fell away, crashing to the floor with the vial. Everything became a dream. All worry, all weight, all motion, dissolved into a melted, lighter version of itself. All accountability was taken from his hands, as Snape lifted him and soared into movement that bent time and space around them. Sky, traffic, the Thames River, all rushed by. He closed his eyes and tried to curl in on himself to protect the baby. Nothing in his mind would let him try that hard, so he felt like dead weight in Snape's arms.

Things happened quickly. There was no sense of landing, only standing against a solid surface, with Snape poised in front of him. There was no sense of time and he was only vaguely aware of wearing his hospital gown in a place filled with muggles. From a stupor, he watched them walking all around him. He couldn't place the setting. It might've been an airport. It might've been a city block with wide open spaces and modern sculpture. In any case, it was very busy and a brilliant, azure sky blasted the pavement around him with light and color. It was almost too bright.

In front of him, Snape's arm waved his wand in a circular motion that contained them both. A sweeping fog surrounded them. It blurred their surroundings and placed a haze between them and the people looking in. Some of them stepped through the mist. At a glance, they looked completely ordinary. Tourists, businesswomen, University students, elderly, young, foreign, local. But they came into the fog with vacant eyes. The muscles in their faces twitched to find meaning in what was happening, but something else peered from pupils that were temporarily shut down. With those lights off, Harry thought he could see clear into the other side of the veil through the open windows staring back at him. In that connection, apprehension dropped a little, and he just wanted to give them what they wanted.

In another place and time, he would've been fascinated. He would've tried to talk to them. But this was too urgent, and the distance in their stares warned him that there was no way he could cross that span. Even right next to one of them, words would have no effect. They existed on energy, emotions, and all that drove them to unite on earth. It unsettled him that his parents might be among them, fully invested in seeing their contribution survive the genetic strain. What were they? The term 'Ghost' didn't feel like it applied. These people were alive, active, and committed to who they were when they walked the earth. He had to believe that life after death was better than that. Then it hit him. These were the ones who couldn't let go.

These were the ones responsible for the rings, who'd used the rings, and valued the purpose behind them. Not every member of Snape's family believed in material control, but these attendees were devoted to it. They believed so much in their bodies, in their worlds, that they could not believe in any freely given paradise awaiting them somewhere else. And above all, they believed in magic. Didn't it give them a foothold in the world of the living? Didn't it get Harry and Snape to submit to a contract neither had ever signed?

They kept their distance, some twenty feet away. Snape leaned in, using his shoulders to block out as many of them as he could. He kissed the top of Harry's head. "I promise. I will make this up to you."

Harry wanted to tell him to just do it, but he couldn't get words to come and Snape was already pushing him up against a hard surface, opening his coat, and positioning himself. Harry took no thought of the spells that were used in an attempt to make him comfortable. He was too concerned about his baby to worry about being watched. Besides, something in all those blank stares assured him that this was the only course of action. It might not be romantic, but it was necessary. It was family.

He focused on Snape, to keep from thinking about anything else. He was thankful for getting to face him. Thankful, that Snape was strong enough to lift him. Thankful, that, at the moment of penetration, Snape's eyes held his and would not let him look away. What could've been dismissed in the privacy of their bedroom, had to be faced like the threshold that it was. Harry thought about how much he loved their child and that took care of the pain. He told Snape, with his eyes, not to worry about the frowns and grimaces his face was making. It was just a reaction, not the reality. He wanted this, he really did. It's just that this was so strange and, wow, it wasn't going in. It wasn't going in. No matter what charms were used, no matter what preparation, that was not going to fit.

Snape's touch told him that he was doing his best not to hurt Harry, but he wanted this behind them. Harry tried to grip him, to clasp him as close as he could as a form of encouragement, but is arms felt like rope. He put all of his will into his hands and squeezed Snape's coat, insisting that they had to make it work. He broke a sweat and grunted against the elastic expansion taking place inside him. He was ready to pass out when the kisses started. They were small, soothing, and intended to anchor him to some kind of pleasure. But Snape needed all of his concentration just to avoid hurting him, and the kisses were short lived. He bit down on his lip so hard, willing his body to allow Snape in, that one pressure blocked out the other, and Snape finally cleared the first set of muscles pushing against him. Both their breaths hitched. He bore into Harry, carefully, but steadily, engulfing himself inside the confines of bowels so tight, that those muscles contracted around him and compressed his erection. He caught on the surface folds of those inner walls, and they conveyed him deeper, even as alternating muscles tried to churn him back out.

Survival kicked in. Harry's vagus nerve answered the alarm, sending a flood of dopamine to put out the fire. He told himself this was no time to enjoy anything, but he had to admit that it helped. That nerve ran through his colon, his stomach, and attached to his brain stem. It was responsible for the euphoria filling him like a bowl and helping to forget about the pain. He rode it, as Snape drove into him. His strokes were measured, cautious, and dutiful. Harry's body jarred at the increasing momentum. Any attempt to figure out how Snape could perform like this in front of his ancestors, was pounded out of his head over and over again. He stopped trying to think and simply held on. His brain must've thought he was dying, for it kicked the dopamine into a faster drip, and Harry's throat grated on the sound of pleasure tearing out of him. He'd tell himself how wrong it was later, but right then, he was too shocked that his body could feel such a powerful emptying of energy. Rolling crests pumped his abdomen and cries were partly from a pleasure that he could not control, and the fear that it was costing him the thing he wanted most.

When it was over, he couldn't feel his body. He hardly felt attached to it. He'd used it up. Only later would he understand that he'd been helped in his completion of the act. Only later, when his premature son squirmed on the bed beside him, would he see that Snape's family was only trying to make sure he survived that contract. When it was over, his hands had to be wrestled free from their hold on Snape. His voice was gone completely and his awareness followed suit. As Snape kissed his hand in gratefulness, he saw the heirloom rings, black obsidian with white, pearl runes. There was one on both their hands. They were married. His head fell back, bringing the sky into view. Scaffolding, girders, and the unsettling shape of the Eiffel Tower loomed stories above him.

By the time Harry awoke in the hospital, the event was very dream-like. There was no trauma and no regret. The monitor beside his bed showed the steady rhythm of his heart, as well as that of the baby's. Their child survived the night. And the next. Rest and magic allowed the placenta to repair and reattach. Oxygen levels became normal, but they were never in the clear again. Not until the doctors decided, at thirty weeks, the baby stood a better chance of surviving outside of Harry's body, than inside.

Jory Prince was born from a surgical procedure, and lifted out into the light of the operating room, into the arms of his father, Severus Snape. He squealed for five seconds before undergoing examination and being encased in an incubator with backup life-support. Harry and Snape stared open-mouth, through those glass walls at the perfection of their son. He was scrawny, somewhat blue, but alive and trembling with selfish fury. It was love at first sight.

It took only the buoyant softness of Snape's voice to soothe his baby to a calmer state. "Now, Jory. There's no need for that. You couldn't stay in there forever." He tapped the glass. "Don't worry. Daddy won't let you out of his sight."

Secretly, he relished the sound of those weak cries, and willed them to get stronger. Louder. His son shivered under the lights until he warmed up to his new environment. Harry refused to leave him until he did. He and Snape spent every moment they could in the hospital nursery. Polyp-like toes and skin that needed filling out, kept them in a trance. Every so often, opaque dark eyes opened to wonder at them. In the following weeks, they stayed open longer and longer, and Jory's pink tongue darted out in response to Harry's lively, 'I love-you's and 'I can't wait to take you home.'

Five pounds and two months later, they did take him home. After all the time spent turning Snape's extra room into a nursery, the baby slept between them, with wards in place to keep from crushing it. Harry's recovery was slow and steady, but spurred on by the sight of Jory's bright hazel eyes every time they saw him enter the room.

His friends waited as long as they could stand it, before insisting on a party to celebrate.

"Just something quiet, with presents and toasts," Hermione pleaded. "It'll give everyone a chance to stop by and see him. You know they're dying to."

She was right and they knew it. As much as they wanted to keep their son out of publicity, they wanted to show him off. He looked like a healthy baby now, and he was absolutely stunning. They set aside one Saturday and invited their closest friends. Guests filled Severus' sitting room in perhaps the first time ever, while cake and champagne were served by elves. Teachers passed around the baby, and Harry's grin left his face hurting.

From across the room, he and Snape shared telepathic satisfaction. There was no doubt that this was the only life for them, as parents. While they didn't know if they would ever sleep a full night's sleep again, at least this miracle was worth the deprivation. Harry could've lain in the floor and gone to sleep right then, but he didn't want to miss one ounce of delight that his son brought to the room. As soon as their guests were gone, he'd either pass out where he stood, or curl up across the bed with Jory. Hopefully, the guests would wear him out. On a scale of fussiness however, the baby was curiously quiet, studying each strange face that sang down to him. When Lucius Malfoy asked to hold him, Harry pretended not to hear the intake of breaths, and encouraged Slughorn to hand him over.

When no harm seemed to come from it, conversation resumed and Snape took a seat beside Harry to keep him sitting upright. Exhaustion was catching up with them and they hoped to end the little get-together on as friendly and expedient terms as possible. Snape did his best to remain polite, but his eyes followed Lucius, who stood and walked meters away from the conversation. His head bent over the infant in his arms and he spoke in a way that would prepare any two-month old, for the real world.

"Now see here, Mr. Jory. Every time someone sits down with you, you start to cry. Something tells me your fathers are just a bit too doting. You've got us all taking turns to please you. I must say, well done manipulating the big folk into giving you what you want. That skill is going to come in handy."

Harry was the only one who smiled at the joke. When they all saw that Lucius wasn't going to eat the baby, he was allowed to venture into the next room with him. Everyone had a clear view of him cradling Jory gently by a table stacked with gifts. His square shoulders and long hair looked out of place among them, but he stood his ground and clamored for his right to wish the new parents well. After all, he insisted, he was responsible for keeping them together.

When he was out of earshot, he cupped Jory's delicate head and stroked his tender black hair, which was a source of fascination to him. It made him understand why people had been so taken with Draco's hair, as an infant, and throughout his whole life. When such qualities were very different from your own, they were mesmerizing. Even bewitching. Considering the baby's fathers, and its beginning, the child was a beacon of magic and power.

He looked back over his shoulder, to see Snape looking at him. Nothing got past that wizard and he smirked to realize what they both might've been thinking. He stared down and whispered to Jory, "You could've been mine."

The baby's dimpled pout had him rushing to stroke his chin and stop him from crying. He smiled, happy to see that, eighteen years after the birth of his own son, he still had the touch.

End

* * *

If you've made it this far, you've ridden for free on my imagination, for over 100 pages. You're welcome, and I hope you'll let me know what you enjoyed. Thank you for all the kudos and comments! No matter how old my stories are, I will always want to know that I touched your heart or excited you. Often, appreciation comes when I need it most. Thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> *Note: I've learned that my stories never really end. Even if I mark a chapter complete, inspiration could still have me adding to it.


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